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Gray  Walls 


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R  CMURPHY 


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BEHIND  GRAY  WALLS 


BY 

Patrick  C.  Murphy 
{Life  Prisoner  in  the  Idaho  State  Penitentiary) 


Introduction 

by 

Earl  Wayland  Bowman 


xarA7  2 


•     •  • 


Copyright  1920 
By  Patrick  C.  Murphy 


Caxton  Printers,  Ltd. 

Caldwell,  Idaho 

2  0  9  7  1 


INTRODUCTION 


Some  time  ago  I  had  a  letter  from  "Pat'*  Murphy, 
the  man  who  has  written  this  book.  It  was  a  very 
brief  note.    It  said : 

"7  am  a  convict  in  the  Idaho  State  Peniten- 
tiary, My  sentence  is  life  imprisonment, 
I  have  been  here  five  years.  There  is  an 
impulse  in  me  to  write  my  experiences 
since  I  was  put  in  here,  but  I  do  not  know 
how  to  go  about  it,  or  to  arrange  to  have 
it  published  after  it  is  written.  I  have 
heard  of  you  and  that  you  are  a  writer. 
I  thought  perhaps  you  would  help  me.'' 

That  note  was  my  introduction  to  "Pat"  Mur- 
phy, "lifer"  in  the  Idaho  State  Penitentiary. 

I  went  out  to  the  penitentiary  and  talked  with 
Murphy.  He  looked  me  straight  in  the  eye  when  he 
spoke,  in  his  voice  there  was  the  sound  of  sincerity, 
his  bearing  showed  that  he  was  a  man  with  Hope 
in  his  heart,  an  objective  in  life,  and  a  purpose  to 
"go  square"  and  clean. 

He  pold  me  the  story  of  his  experiences  since, 
five  years  ago,  a  man  without  friends  and  penniless, 
he  was  sentenced  to  life  imprisonment  behind  gray 
walls. 


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m}807 


6  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

I  did  not  ask  him  to  tell  me  anything  that  hap- 
pened before  the  iron  doors  swung  shut  behind  him. 
It  was  none  of  my  business.  Who  am  I  that  I 
should  part  the  curtain  Time  mercifully  drops  down 
to  separate  the  Past  from  the  Present  in  the  life 
of  a  man? 

Only  the  hand  of  God  has  the  right  to  draw  back 
that  screen. 

After  I  heard  the  story  "Pat'*  Murphy  told  me 
I  said: 

"Write  it.  Write  it  just  as  you  have  told  it  to 
me.  Make  no  effort  at  literary  style,  don't  worry 
about  grammatical  construction — use  your  own  lan- 
guage, speak  as  you  have  spoken  to  me — straight 
from  the  heart." 

I  read  the  story  and  it  appears  in  this  book  al- 
most verbatim  as  Murphy  wrote  it.  I  touched  it 
very  little. 

Mr.  Jas.  H.  Gipson,  of  Caxton  Printers,  Cald- 
well, and  a  man  whom  1  knew  to  be  an  idealist — 
counting  men  of  more  worth  than  money — became 
interested  and  without  profit,  at  actual  cost,  has 
published  the   book,   agreeing  with   me,   that  the 
things  "Pat"  Murphy  has  done  behind  prison  walls 
show  something  that  men  ought  to  know. 
So,  the  book  is  before  you. 
What  you  will  find  in  it  I  cannot  say. 
This  is  what  I  have  found : 
A  man,  though  plunged  into  the  blackest  depths 
qf  the  abyss  can,  if  he  will,  look  up  and  up  and  he 
will  find  gleaming  yet,  on  the  mountain  top,  a  ray 
of  Hope. 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  7 

And  while  there  is  hope  in  the  heart  of  a  man, 
there  is  excuse  for  life. 

"Pat**  Murphy,  convict,  sentenced  to  life  impris- 
onment in  the  Idaho  State  Penitentiary,  has  told 
something  in  this  roughly  written  book  that  he  him- 
self has  proved  true  in  the  five  years  he  has  spent 
behind  gray,  stone  walls.    It  is  this : 

The  soul  of  a  man  can  rise  above  his  physical 
environment. 

— Earl  Wayland  Bowman. 

Boise,  Idaho. 

May  25,  1920. 


BEHIND  GRAY  WALLS 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHEN  THE  GATES  SWUNG  SHUT. 

It  was  the  dawn  of  a  clear  September  day  in 
1915  that  I  arrived,  with  one  companion,  on  the 
early  morning  train,  in  Boise,  the  beautiful  capital 
of  Idaho.  We  were  met  at  the  depot  by  a  slender, 
dark-eyed  young  fellow  who  conveyed  us  to  a  hack 
drawn  up  at  the  curb  and  to  which  was  hitched  a 
pair  of  nervous  gray  horses.  We  climbed  into  the 
rig  and  the  team  was  driven  swiftly  through  the 
business  section  of  the  city  and  turned  toward  the 
east,  out  Warm  Springs  avenue.  My  thoughts  were 
quite  different  from  those  of  most  tourists  that  land 
for  the  first  time  in  the  charming  city  of  Boise, 
for  I  was  in  irons;  my  companion  was  a  heavily 
armed  guard  who  watched  my  every  move. 

For  fifteen  minutes  perhaps  we  drove  past 
stately  homes  and  shaded  lawns.  Ahead  of  us,  to 
the  right,  at  some  distance  a  large  building  loomed 
before  us.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  to  be  our  des- 
tination, but  when  we  reached  it  our  driver  drove 
straight  past  it — it  was  the  Natatorium.  A  few 
hundred  yards  farther  on  we  came  to  a  stone-arched 
gate,  beyond  that  was  an  open  space — like  a  farm, 
and  against  the  brown  hillside,  in  the  distance,  I 
saw  the  massive  walls  of  the  Idaho  State  Peniten- 


12  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

tiary,  and  within  those  walls  I  was  soon  to  be  con- 

"•:  :'\  ^nhii'iofihe  rest  of  my  natural  life — 

...*.••  .',^  eyes  searched  the  premises  surrounding  the 

;:••:  >V{)r.is6h»  for  *fhV  convict  graveyard  where  I,  myself, 

might  find  peace  when  my  sentence  expired.     But 

as  I  failed  to  see  any  tombstones  that  represented  a 

graveyard  I  dismissed  the  subject  from  my  mind 

and  took  a  deep  breath — as  one  who  feels  himself 

sinking  under  dark  waters — wishing  to  inhale  all  of 

God's  free  air  that  was  possible. 

The  vehicle  stopped  before  the  prison  office.  The 
guard  rang  a  bell  to  signal  the  guard  on  the  early 
morning  watch  to  open  the  door  from  within.  The 
door  swung  open.  No  word  was  spoken.  We 
stepped  inside,  the  door  closed  behind  us,  a  great 
key  was  turned  in  the  lock  and  iron  bars  and 
stone  walls  shut  me  in  forever  from 

The  fragrant  flowers,  the  growing  herds, 
The  free  wild  winds  and  the  songs  of  birds. 

I  was  then  told  to  remove  my  clothing  and  put 
on  a  prison  suit  that  had  evidently  been  laid  out 
ready  for  my  arrival.  The  guard  escorted  me  into 
the  yard  and  I  was  locked  in  a  cell. 

"Hello,  *fishM"  (a  new  prisoner)  was  called 
from  the  cell  adjoining  the  one  in  which  I  was 
locked.    "Are  you  Murphy?"  my  neighbor  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"The  judge  gave  you  the  *book'  (meaning  life 
term)  didn't  he?" 

Of  course  he  knew  I  was  a  *lifer'  before  I  hit 
the  prison  from  reading  the  papers.  After  firing 
a  few  preliminary  questions  at  me  he  began  unrav- 
eling his  own  history.    He  boasted  of  serving  time 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  13 

in  seven  different  penitentiaries.  He  also  claimed 
he  had  been  sentenced  three  times  out  of  his  own 
home  town  and  since  then  every  distant  prison  he 
had  served  time  in  quickly  got  a  line  on  him  through 
his  Bertillion  being  thrown  broadcast  from  his 
home  town — but  I  thought  to  myself,  "I  don't  blame 
your  home  town  for  keeping  track  of  you  for  you 
might  become  lost."  He  told  me  the  name  of  the 
town  that  was  his  birthplace  but  I  have  forgotten 
it.  From  his  conversation  I  quickly  formed  an 
opinion  of  this  bird  that  later  proved  correct — 
either  he  was  trying  to  pose  as  a  hard-boiled  guy 
or  working  to  draw  me  out.  It  was  a  relief  when 
the  bell  rang  for  the  early  morning  unlock  and 
took  him  away. 

Breakfast  was  served  to  me  in  my  cell,  as  all 
"fish"  are  kept  locked  up  until  they  are  inspected. 
Later  in  the  day  I  was  taken  to  the  front  office  to 
be  Bertillioned  and  have  my  picture  taken.  The 
cons  call  it  "Getting  mugged  and  your  pedigree 
taken."  There  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  Warden 
Snook  who  had  been  warden  several  years  and  was 
quite  an  adept  at  handling  the  Bertillion  system. 
The  warden  himself  took  my  height,  weight,  age, 
etc.  He  was  very  positive  in  his  Bertillion  work; 
he  did  not  try  to  browbeat  me  or  bulldoze  in  any 
way — he  simply  asked  the  necessary  questions  in 
tones  that  a  man  would  speak  to  a  man.  His  last 
question  was : 

"How  much  money  have  you?" 

"Not  a  cent.  Warden."  The  guard  who  brought 
me  answered  for  me,  and  that  was  true.  For  the 
first  time  in  many  a  moon  I  was  absolutely  broke. 


14  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

I  was  taken  back  inside  and  into  the  bath  house 
and  given  a  bath.  Then  to  the  tailor  shop  and 
measured  for  clothing.  From  the  tailor  shop  they 
took  me  to  the  barber  shop  to  be  shaved  and  it  was 
there  I  saw  the  face,  for  the  first  time,  of  my  early 
morning  neighbor.  He  was  talking  in  a  loud, 
boisterous  way  as  we  entered.  When  he  saw  me 
he  stopped  as  though  to  get  his  breath  and  then 
shouted  "Hello,  Murphy,'*  and  shoved  a  large 
freckled  hand  at  me  as  though  I  was  a  long-lost 
brother,  but  I  did  not  look  up  or  speak  and  stepped 
into  an  empty  barber  chair  as  I  had  been  beckoned 
to  do  by  a  barber.  The  party  who  wished  to  greet 
me  looked  silly,  grinned,  and  sat  down.  You  see 
this  fellow  could  do  a  little  extra  choring,  clean 
spittoons  and  occasionally  shave  a  man  to  get  the 
privilege  of  lounging  in  the  barber  shop  and  "pop" 
off.  The  barbers  are  continually  bothered  with  this 
kind  of  cattle.  I  never  could  learn  why  all  the 
gossipers  in  the  penitentiary  have  a  craving  desire 
to  loaf  in  the  barber  shop.  Nor  can  I  see  how  the 
barbers  can  stand  it,  for  myself  I  hate  to  see  shave 
day  come  for  the  few  minutes  I  have  to  sit  in  the 
barber  chair  and  listen  to  this  peculiar  class.  You 
see  no  shop  has  a  regular  guard  in  it;  each  shop 
has  a  prisoner  acting  as  head  man  and  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  one  prisoner  to  keep  another  pris- 
oner out  of  a  state  shop,  but  the  yard  guards  make 
frequent  trips  to  all  shops  during  the  day.  I  have 
seen  a  bunch  of  these  loafers  run  out  of  the  barber 
shop  and  as  soon  as  the  guard  is  gone,  in  ten  min- 
utes they  are  sneaking  back. 

After  I  was  shaved  I  was  taken  to  the  store 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  15 

room  before  the  captain  of  the  yard.  I  was  given 
a  number,  assigned  to  a  regular  cell.  My  number 
was  2338.  That  meant  2338  prisoners  had  been 
received  at  the  penitentiary  during  the  sixty  years 
it  had  been  in  existence. 

The  captain  took  me  in  charge  and  across  the 
yard  to  a  different  cell  house  from  the  one  I  had 
previously  been  in.  He  showed  me  the  cell  to  which 
I  was  to  come  when  the  whistle  was  sounded  for 
lock-up  and  count  every  evening.  He  then  gave  me 
some  general  instructions  about  where  the  "dead- 
line" was ;  not  to  go  to  the  shops  without  a  guard ; 
how,  when  and  where  to  go  when  meal  time  came. 
Then  I  was  permitted  to  go  to  the  yard  and  mingle 
with  the  other  men.  But  I  was  inclined  to  be  dis- 
tant and  did  not  mix  up.  That  night  I  found  in  my 
cell  a  library  catalogue  with  the  numbers  of  4,000 
books  which  are  available  for  the  use  of  the  pris- 
oners. This  was  an  agreeable  surprise  to  me  for 
I  could  at  least  read.  Ahead  were  the  years — 
"Until  the  end  of  your  natural  life,**  and  books 
promised  to  make  less  dreary  those  years  behind  the 
gray  stone  walls. 


CHAPTER  II. 

GOOD  ADVICE  FROM   AN  OLD   'CRACKSMAN* 

The  first  night  in  my  own  cell  I  noticed  a  card 
stuck  to  the  wall  and  on  it  the  rules  a  prisoner 
should  obey.  At  the  bottom  of  the  card  in  large 
print  were  these  words : 

"Any  prisoner  wilfully  breaking  the  rules  will 
be  forced  to  forfeit  all  of  his  good  time.** 

In  other  words  he  would  automatically  sentence 
himself  to  a  longer  period  of  time.  I  thought  to 
myself : 

"Well,  Fm  in  the  mire  as  far  as  they  can  get 
me  so  it*s  up  to  me  to  pull  myself  out.  Maybe  some 
day  I  will  get  this  life  sentence  cut  down  to  a  point 
where  it  might  put  me  on  the  level  with  those  who 
are  fortunate  enough  to  have  good  time  to  lose.** 
And  I  may  add  here  that  time  off  for  good  conduct 
is  a  powerful  stimulant  to  discipline  and  obedience 
in  prison.  Hope  is  hard  to  die.  It  seems  that  any 
man — even  a  lifer — can  dream  of  a  day  when 
things  will  be  different. 

It  w^as  a  few  days  after  this  first  night  that  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  an  old  safe  blower,  John 
B.,  who  had  approached  me  in  the  yard.  I  saw  at  a 
glance  that  he  was  more  intelligent  than  the  aver- 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  17 

age  con  I  had  seen  so  far  and  I  ventured  to  ask  him 
a  few  questions  about  the  place. 

He  was  willing  to  talk. 

"Well,  Murph,"  he  said  as  he  took  a  seat  on  a 
nearby  rock  and  motioned  me  to  sit  beside  him, 
"there  is  one  thing  I  want  to  put  you  wise  to,  that 
is,  do  your  own  time.  Don't  let  no  one  here  draw 
you  out  in  talking  about  your  case,  your  past,  your 
intentions,  or  know  your  business  in  any  way. 
shape  or  form.  I  have  noticed  you  have  been 
rather  distant — stay  that  way.  I  have  learned  from 
many  years'  experience  that  it  is  your  fellow  pris- 
oner you  want  to  look  out  for.  Most  of  the  officials 
here  ain't  a  bad  bunch  of  fellows  and  the  guards 
are  most  apt  to  report  things  just  as  they  are, 
while  some  of  the  cons  will  stretch  the  truth  and 
manufacture  stuff  in  order  to  try  to  get  themselves 
to  the  'front'." 

The  aged  cracksman  lit  his  pipe  which  had  gone 
out  while  he  was  talking,  and  continued : 

"I  am  just  finishing  a  ten  to  twenty-five  year 
sentence.  I  got  the  top  twenty-five  years  cut  off  so 
it  leaves  me  ten  to  do  and  with  good  time  off  I  will 
just  have  toi  do  seven  years  solid  in  all  which  I  will 
have  finished  in  a  few  months." 

His  story  made  me  see  the  value  of  the  last 
clause  on  the  rule  card.  Then  I  ventured  to  ask  him 
about  Harry  Orchard  of  whom  I  had  read  a  great 
deal. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "Harry  is  in  charge  of  the 
shoe  shop.  Three  other  cons  work  in  there  with 
him.     They  mend  the  shoes  for  all  the  inmates. 


18  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

Harry  attends  strictly  to  his  own  business  and 
doesn't  bother  anybody.  You  seldom  see  him  in  the 
yard — he  prefers  to  work  all  the  time." 

Just  then  I  observed  a  large  audience  of  cons 
that  had  collected  around  a  big  chunk  of  human 
flesh  a  few  yards  away.  The  center  of  attraction 
was  rehearsing  in  boastful  tones  the  many  sensa- 
tional and  hair-breadth  escapes  he  had  made  in  rob- 
bing banks.  As  he  put  it  he  did  not  stop  at  any- 
thing less  than  First  Nationals.  He  was  simply 
darkening  the  sky  with  flying  fragments  of  bank 
vaults  which  he  was  unmercifully  ripping  to  pieces 
with  his  "soup"  (nitro-glycerine). 

He  was  the  same  fellow  who  had  tried  to  force 
his  acquaintance  upon  me  when  I  was  first  locked 
in  a  cell.  A  guard  had  just  run  him  and  his  audi- 
ence out  of  the  barber  shop  and  he  was  continuing 
his  open  air  oration  of  bravado  and  criminal  dar- 
ing. The  thought  struck  me  that  he  had  steered 
them  to  that  particular  spot  so  as  to  be  in  earshot 
of  me  and  make  me  feel  that  I  had  made  a  mistake 
in  not  accepting  his  offered  hand  when  I  first  en- 
tered the  barber  shop,  when  I  had  a  chance  to  give 
his  followers  an  impression  that  I  was  quite  for- 
tunate to  know  a  noted  bear-cat  like  him. 

"Who  and  what  is  that  fellow?"  I  asked  the  old 
cracksman  sitting  beside  me. 

"Oh,"  he  said  laughing,  "I  call  him  'Gossiping 
Joe.'  He  is  one  of  the  worst  stool  pigeons  in  here. 
He  will  peddle  that  hot  air  stuff  to  them  poor  boobs 
and  if  he  can  get  one  of  them  to  drop  a  remark  he 
can  patch  up  and  add  to,  he  will  then  report  it  to 
one  of  the  officials."     He  paused  a  moment  and 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  19 

added:  "Yes,  and  that  bird  would  hang  you  for 
25  cents  or  for  a  shot  of  snow  (cocaine).  But  as 
a  rule  these  old  officials  are  wise  to  him  and  his 
kind.  That  rough  stuff  don't  get  him  anywhere  and 
instead  of  him  being  a  'pete-man*  (a  safe  blower)  he 
is  nothing  but  a  cheese  and  cracker  weeder  (a  petty 
larceny  thief) .  The  bank  he  boasts  of  serving  time 
for  robbing  was  a  little  grocery  store  run  by  an  old 
widow  woman  that  had  seven  children  to  support 
and  the  big  bunch  of  money  he  claims  he  got  away 
with  was  a  roll  of  cheese  and  a  sack  of  crackers. 
The  next  morning  the  marshal  followed  him  by  the 
crackers  that  had  dropped  through  the  hole  in  the 
sack.  He  was  found  asleep  in  the  brush  and  was 
using  the  roll  of  cheese  for  a  pillow.  The  only 
weapon  he  had  was  a  deadly  appetite  and  now  he 
has  the  nerve  to  say  he  was  nabbed  through  his 
own  carelessness  by  dropping  $20  gold  pieces  in 
making  his  get-away — the  gold  pieces  were  only 
crackers!"  and  the  old  cracksman  laughed  scorn- 
fully. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

IN  BAD  AT  THE  START. 

Just  ten  days  after  I  was  landed  at  the  peniten- 
tiary I  was  picked  out  of  the  main  line  as  it  came 
out  of  the  dining  room  from  dinner.  The  guard 
took  me  to  my  own  cell  and  I  was  told  to  get  my 
blankets  and  then  was  taken  down  to  the  hard- 
boiled  row  and  locked  in  a  cell.  In  a  few  moments 
they  brought  in  six  more,  mostly  all  long  timers. 
The  hard-boil,  you  understand,  is  a  row  of  ten  cells 
on  the  ground  floor  of  No.  1  cell  house. 

The  first  one  of  these  cells  is  the  death  cell  which 
was  occupied  at  that  time  by  Charlie  George  who 
was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  but  was  later  com- 
muted to  life  in  prison.  He  is  a  trusty  now,  out- 
side the  walls,  and  is  making  good.  The  other  nine 
cells  were  for  men  who  had  been  ordered,  or  sen- 
tenced, to  solitary  confinement. 

Why  I  was  put  in  solitary  at  this  time  I  did  not 
know,  but  was  sure  it  was  a  rank  piece  of  jobbery. 
The  first  thing  that  flashed  to  my  mind  was  the 
thought  that  some  of  the  petty  offenders  that  were 
in  jail  where  I  was  sentenced  and  after  I  had  been 
taken  out  had  told  some  undersheriff  that  wanted  to 
be  important  that  I  intended  to  beat  the  dump  as 
soon  as  I  hit  here.    Their  intentions  in  telling  some- 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  21 

thing  of  that  kind  to  make  a  hit  with  the  jailor  and 
possibly  get  their  own  time  cut  down. 

Of  course  the  jailor  would  report  such  word  to 
the  penitentiary  and  on  the  strength  of  this  I  would 
be  confined  to  solitary  without  even  getting  a  hear- 
ing before  the  warden.  But  I  could  not  understand 
why  the  other  men  were  there  also. 

In  a  few  days  I  learned  that  we  all  had  been 
ordered  to  solitary  through  fear  of  a  break,  as  it 
had  been  reported  that  a  bunch  was  going  to  try 
and  beat  the  dump. 

It  developed  that  a  short  timer  doing  from  one 
to  fourteen  years  had  gone  to  a  few  long  timers  who 
were  foolish  enough  to  listen  to  him  and  had  told 
them  how  sorry  he  was  for  them  and  him  being 
acquainted  with  the  surrounding  country — claiming 
he  had  friends  living  in  the  distant  hills — he  would 
be  glad  to  go  with  them,  help  them  escape  and 
make  a  successful  get-away.  He  pictured  in  a  dime 
novel  way  how  they  could  charge  a  tower  guard 
with  rocks  and  while  some  of  the  bunch  ran  to  the 
dining  room  and  got  tables  which  they  could  place 
against  the  wall  and  run  right  over  to  liberty  like 
sheep  out  of  a  corral. 

Of  course  he  knew  they  would  be  running  right 
into  the  jaws  of  death,  even  if  they  got  that  fax- 
But  that  made  no  difference  to  him.  He  wanted  to 
work  the  thing  up  to  the  boiling  point,  thinking 
maybe  he  would  get  a  feather  in  his  cap.  Of  course 
I  knew  nothing  of  all  this  and  being  a  new  arrival 
and  a  stranger  it  isn't  possible  that  anyone,  had 
they  had  such  intentions,  would  be  apt  to  tell  me. 
and  I  am  morally  certain  I  had  never  spoken  to  this 


22  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

dime  novel  fiend.  He  would  go  to  the  warden  and 
tell  him  the  men's  secrets  and  that  they  wanted 
him  as  their  leader.  Then  he  would  tell  the  warden 
they  were  to  meet  him  at  a  certain  time  in  a  certain 
place  in  the  yard  when  the  plans  were  to  be  talked 
over.  Then  he  would  go  to  his  victims  in  the  yard 
and  tell  them  to  meet  him  at  that  place  and  they 
would  figure  things  out.  As  a  precaution,  naturally, 
the  wall  guards  would  by  this  time  have  been  given 
orders  to  be  on  the  lookout  and  when  this  secret 
meeting  was  held  they  would  phone  a  report  to  the 
office  and  so  apparently  the  stool-pigeon's  state- 
ments would  seem  to  be  corroborated. 

In  this  case  I  think  he  went  so  far  in  his  imag- 
ination as  to  even  manufacture  some  guns  that 
were  supposed  to  be  smuggled  in.  He  was  double- 
crossing  the  cons  and  he  was  double-crossing  the 
warden. 

I  could  never  understand  why  he  implicated  me 
unless  he  took  a  dislike  to  my  looks  or  thought  I 
was  an  ignorant  kind  of  a  fellow  and  would  be  an 
easy  victim.  At  least  I  was  a  "fish"  and  a  life- 
timer  and  would  make  pretty  good  bait.  So  I  sup- 
pose he  just  put  me  down  as  one  of  those  fellows 
they  say  are  born  every  minute — an  easy  mark.  The 
ttme  I  had  to  do  also  would  probably  influence  the 
warden  to  think  I  was  in  on  the  plot  and  in  so  much 
as  I  was  charged  with  the  murder  of  a  man  sup- 
posed to  be  an  officer  would  convince  the  prison 
authorities  that  I  was  a  dangerous  man  to  be 
running  loose  in  the  yard.  Under  these  circum- 
stances naturally  the  warden  would  not  overlook  a 
bet  that  would  give  him  a  chance  to  lock  me  up. 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  23 

But  if  that  is  what  the  bird  thought  he  was 
wrong  in  his  judgment  of  the  warden.  For  Snook 
looked  at  a  man  for  what  he  was  and  not  for  what 
he  had  done.  He  would  not  knowingly  persecute 
any  man  because  he  was  a  prisoner. 

When  he  ordered  me  locked  up  he  believed  he 
was  in  the  right.  He  was  going  away  that  day  and 
from  the  reports  that  had  come  to  him  I  suppose  he 
felt  that  he  was  justifiable  and  did  not  wish  to  take 
any  chances.  Only  a  few  months  previous  to  this 
a  break  had  been  made  in  practically  the  same  way 
this  one  was  supposed  to  be  pulled  off.  Out  of  the 
bunch  that  made  the  rush  to  get  over  the  walls 
three  got  over  entirely,  one  of  them  was  killed  out- 
right and  two  others  were  shot  down  and  maimed 
for  life. 

So,  here  I  was,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land; 
stripped  of  every  penny  and  of  course  without 
friends,  and  starting  on  a  life  sentence  by  getting 
in  bad  right  on  the  jump-off.  And  to  think  it  was 
a  fellow-prisoner  who  had  lied  to  get  me  in  solitary 
to  further  his  own  selfish  cause  filled  my  heart  with 
hell  and  hate. 

In  the  blackness  of  that  cell,  seemingly,  with  all 
the  world  against  me  and  not  even  the  sympathy  of 
cons  like  myself  who  were  shut  out  from  everything 
that  makes  life  worth  while  what  other  feelings 
but  feelings  of  passionate  resentment  against  the 
whole  scheme  of  life  could  I  have?  I  sweat  nitric 
acid.  The  drops  of  perspiration  that  dampened  my 
forehead  would  have  poisoned  a  rattlesnake.  In 
them  was  the  venom  of  utter  despair  and  yet-- 


24  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

some  way  I  mastered  those  feelings  and  a  stubborn 
calm  settled  over  me. 

I  would  not  have  minded  it  so  bad  had  it  been 
really  true  that  there  was  a  plot  or  that  I  was  in  it. 
I  would  have  taken  my  medicine  without  a  murmur. 
But  getting  it  dead  wrong  was  what  hurt.  I  swore 
right  then  I  would  never  speak  or  associate  with 
another  prisoner  unless  I  knew  for  sure  he  meant 
me  no  harm.  And  I  made  up  my  mind,  too,  that 
even  then  I  would  utter  no  remark  that  I  would  not 
say  in  front  of  the  warden  and  the  whole  world. 
Although  I  was  in  as  bad  a  fix  it  seemed  as  a  man 
could  possibly  be,  right  there  I  determined  to  come 
out  of  it  and  raise  up  in  an  honest  way  above  the 
rat  who  had  got  me  in  solitary. 

After  a  month  in  solitary  the  warden  had  me 
brought  out  to  the  front  office.  He  did  not  speak 
for  a  minute  or  two  but  just  sat  there  and  looked 
at  me  as  if  to  study  me.  I  thought :  "If  you  think 
I  am  going  to  cringe  or  beg  you  to  let  me  out  of 
solitary  you  are  mistaken — Fll  stay  in  there  till 
moss  grows  on  my  back  before  Til  ask  to  get  out.'* 

Finally  Warden  Snook  spoke  and  his  voice  was 
pleasant:  "Say,  Pat,*'  he  said,  "I  believe  I  have 
made  a  mistake  in  your  case.  After  sifting  this 
thing  out  and  the  reports  that  have  come  to  me, 
I  cannot  understand  how  a  man  with  your  intelli- 
gence will  come  here  in  this  prison  with  a  life  sen- 
tence to  do  and  on  a  ten-day  acquaintance  start 
telling  every  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  that  you  are 
going  over  the  walls.  I  can't  hardly  believe  it  and 
Fm  going  to  turn  you  out  in  the  yard.** 

"That's  all  right,**  I  said,  "but  how  long  will  it 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  25 

be  before  you  fall  for  another  frame-up  like  this 
and  throw  me  back  into  solitary?  And  further, 
Warden,  I  want  you  to  understand  that  if  a  fellow- 
inmate  had  come  to  me  in  there  and  passed  a  re- 
mark or  given  me  a  secret  and  asked  me  to  keep  it, 
if  I  had  promised  him  I  would  do  so  I  would  keep 
that  promise.  I  would  not  tell  you  or  any  other 
man  for  what  I  know  I  would  die  knowing  and  with 
it  untold." 

*'Well,*'  Warden  Snook  answered,  "if  you  think 
so  much  of  your  promise  that  you  will  keep  it  with 
a  con  no  doubt  you  will  hold  it  with  me  when  you 
know  and  I  know  it  was  the  lies  of  a  fellow-prisoner 
that  got  you  in  there." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "Warden,  if  you  care  to  take  a 
chance  with  me  by  giving  me  the  liberty  of  the 
yard  I  will  see  that  you  never  have  occasion  to  re- 
gret it."    And  he  never  did. 

Snook  seemed  to  like  the  way  I  talked  to  him. 
He  believed  in  fair  play  and  would  fire  a  guard  in  a 
minute  if  he  knew  he  was  trying  to  bulldoze  or  per- 
secute a  prisoner  for  he  knew  that  a  guard  that 
would  do  that  was  a  coward  and  Snook  hated  a 
coward  because  he  himself  feared  neither  man  nor 
devil. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  SOLACE  OP  LABOR. 

Along  in  November  when  cold  weather  came 
we  could  go  into  Cell  House  No.  3.  This  building 
was  the  oldest  and  first  put  up  at  the  prison.  It  is 
over  sixty  years  old.  The  walls  are  of  stone,  of 
course;  the  cells  are  brick,  some  of  the  bars  on  the 
outer  windows  are  wood  and  the  building  is  pretty 
well  dilapidated  so  only  trusties  are  allowed  to 
sleep  in  these  cells  at  night  although  the  corridors 
are  used  for  all  the  idle  men  to  spend  the  day  in 
during  the  winter. 

It  was  there  I  first  got  introduced  to  the  junk- 
making,  as  the  cons  call  it.  Junk  means  any  kind 
of  souvenirs  that  are  made  here  in  the  prison 
whether  they  are  belts,  bridles,  charms,  or  other 
trinkets.  They  all  come  under  that  heading.  And 
a  poor  grade  of  junk  is  called  bull's  wool  junk. 

Some  of  the  men,  I  noticed,  had  short  boards 
bolted  onto  the  steam  pipes  which  answered  the 
purpose  of  a  kind  of  work  bench.  The  tools  they 
used  were  very  crude  but  nevertheless  the  boys 
seemed  to  be  busy  turning  out  some  very  beautiful 
articles.  The  files  and  hacksaws  they  had  would 
be  turned  in  to  the  captain  at  the  store-room  each 
evening  and  in  his  presence  they  were  counted  and 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  27 

then  locked  up  until  the  following  day.  The  silver 
used  in  making  the  articles  is  ordered  from  the  east 
and  the  shell  from  California. 

Each  man  that  had  junk  was  allowed  one  dis- 
play tray  in  the  library  of  the  penitentiary  with  his 
name  on  it  and  the  librarian  who  is  also  a  prisoner 
would  keep  a  check  on  all  these  trays  and  keep 
them  clean.  He  sells  the  articles  to  visitors  who 
come  through  tx)  visit  the  prison.  The  junk  men 
pay  him  a  small  commission  on  each  item  sold. 
After  a  sale  is  made  the  guard  who  has  the  visitor 
in  charge  takes  the  money  and  a  slip  of  paper  from 
the  librarian,  stating  from  whose  tray  the  junk  was 
bought,  and  turns  the  money  in  at  the  front  office 
where  it  is  put  to  the  credit  of  the  con  whose  junk 
was  sold.  The  clerk  and  librarian  both  keep  separ- 
ate books  on  these  junk  sales  so  there  is  never  any 
mistake.  All  are  treated  fair.  It  is  a  great  help  to 
the  men,  for  they  can  use  the  money  to  buy  tobacco, 
butter,  and  such  things  as  they  need.  And  the  work 
is  a  great  relief  to  the  men  who  cannot  stand  to  be 
idle.  It  helps  the  long  hours  to  pass  more  quickly 
and  gives  their  mind  occupation  and  keeps  them 
from  brooding  over  things  too  much. 

As  I  wanted  to  be  doing  something  I  soon  found 
a  job  working  for  another  junk  dealer  who  had  a 
full  outfit.    They  called  this  fellow  ^'Blackie.*' 

I  worked  for  Blackie  all  winter.  The  two  of  us 
made  several  dollars'  worth  of  junk  and  in  the 
spring  after  we  had  finished  he  handed  me  $6.00 
worth  of  bulFs-wool  junk  for  my  work.  I  felt  like 
telling  him   he   had   better  keep   it  but  I   needed 


28  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

money  too  badly,  so  I  sold  what  junk  he  gave  me 
to  another  inmate  for  the  cut  price  of  $1.40  cash. 

"Now  I  have  got  a  start,"  I  thought.  "With 
that  $1.40  I  will  make  it."  In  other  words,  I 
picked  up  hope. 

With  the  40  cents  I  bought  some  broken  rough 
shell  from  another  junk  man.  The  dollar  I  sent  to 
Chicago  for  silver.  I  am  sure  it  was  the  smallest 
order  of  silver  that  ever  came  into  this  prison. 
Since  then  I  have  sent  in  some  of  the  largest  orders 
and  received  some  of  the  biggest  shipments  of  sil- 
ver that  ever  came  into  any  prison  and  some  of  the 
boys  who  no  doubt  criticized  my  first  little  order 
have  lately  been  glad  to  borrow  silver  from  my 
large  orders. 

About  this  time  the  days  were  getting  warmer 
and  the  captain  in  charge — Captain  Roberts — 
stopped  the  junk  men  who  had  plenty  of  junk  made 
up  from  sending  out  for  more  silver.  But  he  knew 
how  I  was  situated  and  let  my  little  order  go  out. 
Captain  Roberts  was  a  good,  broad-minded  man, 
and  all  the  cons  liked  him. 

But  I  had  no  tools  and  I  would  not  ask  the 
other  junk  dealers  to  loan  me  any  of  theirs.  So 
during  the  days  while  I  was  waiting  for  the  silver 
to  arrive  I  took  the  broken  pieces  of  shell  I  had 
bought  with  the  forty  cents,  out  into  the  yard,  got 
a  rock  and  rubbed  them  down  and  shaped  them 
with  my  hands  on  the  face  of  the  piece  of  rock. 
Then  I  broke  and  chisled  a  small  rock  till  I  got 
it  so  it  would  answer  the  purpose  and  took  it  into 
Cell  House  No.  3  and  made  a  wooden  frame  for  it; 
put  a  crank  to  it,  and  I  was  ready  for  business  as 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  29 

soon  as  my  silver  arrived.    It  was  certainly  a  crude 
affair  but  it  was  my  starter. 

When  the  silver  came  I  worked  it  up  into  watch 
fobs  and  inlaid  each  fob  with  a  piece  of  shell.  The 
spring  was  advancing  and  the  warm  weather  had 
drawn  most  of  the  men  out  into  the  yard  so  I  was 
practically  working  alone  in  No.  3  house.  There 
were,  however,  a  couple  of  loafers  who  constantly 
sneaked  around  to  spy  on  me,  to  see,  I  suppose,  that 
I  didn't  make  any  gatling  guns  or  perhaps  they 
thought  I  was  going  to  make  an  airship  and  fly 
right  over  the  walls  and  they  wanted  to  be  handy 
so  they  could  grab  me  if  I  tried  it.  Anyhow,  I  was 
a  lifer  and  in  their  judgment  no  doubt  dangerous 
and  since  I  had  been  in  solitary  they  probably  fig- 
ured that  was  where  I  belonged  all  the  time.  But 
whatever  the  reports  these  reptiles  carried  they  did 
not  influence  Warden  Snook  for  he  never  bothered 
me  after  the  day  he  turned  me  out  of  solitary.  But 
they  must  have  got  in  their  work  on  a  certain  new 
guard  who  was  a  greenhorn  and  who  had  just  come 
in  from  the  sheep  camps  and  been  given  a  job  at  the 
prison.  This  important  limb  of  the  law  would  make 
frequent  trips  to  see  me  and  find  out  what  I  was 
doing.  He  would  slip  up  behind  me  like  a  modem 
Sherlock  Holmes — as  he  thought,  and  I  let  him 
think  it — although  I  always  knew  it  before  he  got 
to  me.  I  never  let  on.  Sometimes  he  would  stall 
around  as  if  admiring  the  fobs  I  was  making,  but 
I  easily  read  his  face  and  actions  and  was  sure  he 
would  like  to  get  hold  of  something  that  would  get 
me  into  trouble  and  at  the  same  time  make  him 


30  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

appear  important.  But  he  never  got  it  because 
there  was  nothing  to  get. 

One  fine  day  just  as  I  had  finished  making  up 
the  fobs  Captain  Roberts  came  in. 

"Well,  Pat,  how  are  you  getting  along?"  he 
asked  pleasantly. 

I  told  him  I  had  finished. 

"Well,  when  you  are  all  through,  I  want  to  lock 
the  house  up  to  keep  these  loafers  out — ^we  always 
lock  this  house,"  he  added,  "when  cold  weather  is 
over,  but  I  will  leave  it  open  as  long  as  you  want  to 
work  on  your  fobs." 

I  thanked  him  and  told  him  I  had  worked  up  all 
my  material.  It  seemed  to  please  him  to  get  to  fire 
those  loafers  out.  Captain  Roberts  was  sure  wise 
to  their  kind. 

Then  I  placed  my  fobs  on  display  in  the  library, 
went  out  into  the  yard  and  looked  for  a  hang-out. 
I  picked  out  a  spot  right  in  the  center  of  the  yard 
where  there  was  a  large  flat  rock  about  five  feet 
square  and  one  foot  high.  It  was  settled  some  in  the 
ground  so  when  I  would  become  tired  of  sitting  up 
I  could  lie  down  on  top  of  it  or  to  one  side  and  use 
the  edge  for  a  pillow. 

The  reason  I  selected  that  spot  was  because  it 
was  very  unattractive  and  I  would  very  likely  have 
it  alone  during  the  summer.  In  addition  to  that  it 
was  right  under  the  vigilance  of  all  the  wall  and 
yard  guards,  and  that  would  make  it  easier  for  me 
to  keep  from  being  the  victim  of  another  frame-up. 

I  always  had  a  library  book  in  my  hands  and 
usually  spent  the  days  reading.  When  anyone  came 
around  and  started  to  talk  to  me  I  would  not  look 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  31 

up  or  answer  them  but  just  kept  on  reading,  so  my 
silence  would  soon  drive  them  away.  Of  course 
when  the  old  pete-man  (safe-cracker)  or  John 
Fleming,  another  lifer,  or  some  old  con  that  I 
knew  was  all  right  and  meant  me  noi  harm  came 
along  I  would  not  care  to  hurt  their  feelings  and 
would  speak.  But  they  seemed  to  understand  how 
I  felt  and  would  usually  merely  pass  the  time  of 
day  and  go  on  their  way. 

Along  in  June  I  found  some  bones  that  had 
been  thrown  out  from  the  kitchen.  I  gathered  them 
up  and  took  them  down  to  my  rock  and  worked  or 
rubbed  them  on  the  rock  with  my  hands  till  I  got 
them  into  twenty-four  pieces  and  made  twenty-four 
bone  toothpicks.  These  I  added  to  my  other  col- 
lection of  junk  in  the  library.  It  was  a  job  to  make 
them.  I  would  rub  the  bone  on  the  rock  till  the 
blood  would  run  out  of  my  hand,  but  it  gave  me 
satisfaction,  for  it  was  putting  me  on  my  feet. 
Besides  that  I  was  making  something  useful  out  of 
something  that  wasn't  of  any  value  before  I  worked 
on  it. 

Under  circumstances  like  mine  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  pleasure  in  work  of  any  kind. 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  PLEASANT  SURPRISE. 


One  night  when  I  returned  to  my  cell  I  found  a 
little  surprise.  A  feather  pillow,  two  pillow  slips, 
two  bed  sheets,  a  bed  spread  and  quite  a  few  other 
little  trinkets  that  a  prisoner  needs  in  his  cell  had 
been  left  in  mine.  These  are  things  the  state  does 
not  furnish  us.  The  only  way  we  get  them  is  by 
friends  sending  them  to  us  or  we  buy  them  our- 
selves if  we  have  the  money.  I  had  neither  friends 
nor  money  so  I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  the 
things  came  there.  I  had  been  using  my  coat  for 
a  pillow  up  to  that  time. 

When  I  found  the  things  in  my  cell  I  thought  it 
might  be  another  frame-up.  So,  when  the  janitor 
came  around  I  asked  him  if  there  hadn't  been  a 
mistake  and  showed  him  the  articles.  He  laughed 
and  said  there  hadn't  been  any  mistake,  that  John 
B.,  the  aged  safe  blower  had  given  them  to  him  and 
told  him  to  put  them  in  my  cell  and  had  forbidden 
him  to  let  me  know  anything  about  it  until  I  came 
in  and  found  them  myself. 

Then  I  remembered  that  John  B.  had  gone  out 
that  day  and  that  he  had  come  around  and  told  me 
good-bye.  He  had  evidently  taken  all  of  his  be- 
longings and  taken  them  to  my  cell  upon  his  leav- 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  33 

ing.  Not  only  that,  but  the  clerk  told  me  next 
morning  that  John  B.  had  left  $10  to  my  credit  in 
the  front  office.  The  old  safe-blower  had  offered  me 
money  to  buy  material  with  when  he  saw  me  rub- 
bing down  the  rough  bones  on  the  rock,  trying  to 
make  toothpicks  of  them.  But  I  had  refused  to 
accept  a  cent  and  the  only  way  he  no  doubt  thought 
I  would  accept  the  things  was  to  leave  them  in  my 
cell  and  let  me  find  them  after  he  was  gone. 

The  things  were  a  pleasant  surprise. 

It  happened  one  Sunday,  that  summer,  that 
Judge  Morgan,  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Idaho, 
came  out  to  the  prison  and  gave  us  a  lecture  on 
Prison  Reform. 

Warden  Snook  brought  him  in  and  introduced 
him  to  us.  Judge  Morgan  made  a  very  interesting 
talk.  He  seemed  to  be  connected  with  the  Prison 
Reform  people  outside  some  way.  He  wanted  us 
to  get  together  and  suggest  some  sane  and  sensible 
bills  to  be  passed  before  the  legislature  for  our 
benefit.  He  and  other  influential  citizens  would 
take  them  up  and  go  before  the  legislature  with 
them,  and  plead  for  their  passage.  This  he  did  and 
later  one  good  bill  he  had  was  creating  the  o^ce 
of  Parole  Officer,  which  the  state  never  had  before. 

After  the  meeting  was  over  a  most  beautiful 
gang  of  cut-throats  and  men  of  the  most  degenerate 
crimes  made  a  high  dive  for  the  learned  judge. 
They  all  tried  to  talk  to  him  at  once — each  about 
his  own  personal  case  and  self  and  of  course  had  a 
purpose.  Some  had  the  judge  by  the  arm,  some  by 
the  collar,  all  telling  him  they  were  innocent  and 
shouldn*t  be  here,  believing,  I  suppose,  that  as  he 


34  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

was  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  all  that  was  neces- 
sary, for  him  to  do,  which  no  doubt  he  would,  they 
thought,  was  for  him  to  order  the  warden  to  turn 
them  right  out — not  only  that  but  in  all  probability 
he  would  tell  the  district  judge  that  sent  them 
there  where  to  get  off. 

I  wanted  to  go  up  and  thank  the  judge  for  the 
interest  he  was  taking  in  our  welfare,  but  I  could 
not  get  near  him  for  the  innocent  lambs  that  had 
him  surrounded.  But  I  think  he  was  dead  wise 
to  them  for  he  kept  one  hand  tightly  gripped  on 
his  watch. 

In  order  for  Judge  Morgan  to  get  away  from 
this  bunch  he  put  them  off  by  telling  them  to  write 
a  letter  stating  their  cases,  which  of  course  they 
did.  And  to  show  you  I  was  right  when  I  said  the 
judge  was  wise  to  these  doves  I  will  quote  here  the 
answer  he  wrote  to  them.    He  said: 

"You  say  you  are  innocent.  Maybe  you  are.  I 
would  advise  you,  if  you  are  innocent,  to  take  your 
case  before  the  Board  of  Pardons,  whose  duties  it 
is  to  act  in  such  cases.  I  am  voluntarily  taking 
this  extra  work  upon  myself  for  you  men  for  the 
benefit  of  all,  not  a  special  few.  The  work  I  am 
undertaking  is  to  reform  the  wrong-doer,  however, 
if  you  are  innocent,  I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  It  is 
the  guilty  I  am  after  who  need  reforming,  that  need 
to  be  built  up  that  they  may  come  back  into  society 
better  men." 

That  gave  these  hypocrites  something  to  gossip 
about.  They  told  the  contents  of  the  letter  around 
the  yard.     We  all  know  it  by  heart.    They  said: 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  35 

"Judge  Morgan  was  a  false  alarm  and  it  was  only 
politics  that  brought  him  in  here,"  etc. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  story  I  heard  one  time. 
It  happened  in  an  eastern  state.  The  governor  was 
going  through  a  large  penitentiary.  He  was  asking 
each  man  what  he  was  in  for,  how  long  he  was 
doing,  etc.  He  would  wind  up  by  asking  each  indi- 
vidual if  he  was  guilty  and  really  committed  the 
act.  Each  man  he  came  to  would  claim  to  be  inno- 
cent. As  the  governor  went  farther  and  farther 
down  the  line  his  face  became  graver  and  graver. 
After  he  had  interviewed  several  hundred,  he  came 
to  one  firm,  tough  looking  little  fellow.  The  gov- 
ernor said: 

"Well,  what  are  you  here  for?' 

"Burglary,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"How  long  are  you  doing?"  was  the  next  ques- 
tion. 

"Ten  years,"  the  con  belched  out. 

"Well,"  the  governor  said,  "I  suppose  you  were 
innocent "  and  paused. 

"No,  sir,  I  was  guilty  as  hell!"  the  con  snapped 
back. 

"My,  this  will  never  do,"  the  governor  said.  "It 
will  never  do  to  leave  a  guilty  man  here  with  all 
these  innocent  men!  I  will  have  to  pardon  you  at 
once  to  get  you  away  from  here." 

Judge  Morgan  came  to  the  prison  once  more. 
That  time  he  brought  with  him  Judge  McCarthy  of 
the  circuit  court,  and  J.  R.  Compton,  a  prominent 
citizen  of  Boise.  They  held  a  mass  meeting  in  the 
dining  room  with  the  cons.  That  was  the  last  time 
Judge  Morgan  ever  came  out  to  see  us.    Some  few 


36  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

said  by  him  not  coming  out  to  see  us  it  was  proof 
enough  he  was  not  sincere,  but  I  am  inclined  to 
think  the  man  became  utterly  disgusted  by  some  of 
the  hypocrites  trying  to  buttonhole  him  for  their 
own  selfish  ends. 

Speaking  of  J.  R.  CJompton,  he  has  come  out  to 
visit  the  boys  nearly  every  Sunday  since  I  have 
been  here  and  lots  of  times  on  week  days.  He 
encourages  shows  and  entertainments  to  come  to 
the  prison  for  our  benefit,  he  helps  men  in  here  and 
helps  them  when  they  go  out  on  pardon  or  parole, 
finding  them  work  or  giving  them  money  from  his 
own  pocket  to  keep  them  up  until  they  can  get 
work.  Of  course  once  in  a  while  men  who  went  out 
have  thrown  him  down  by  failing  to  make  good,  but 
Mr.  Compton  never  becomes  discouraged.  He  goes 
right  on  helping  the  next  man.  He  volunteered  and 
acted  as  our  parole  oflScer  before  that  office  was 
created  and  has  never  at  any  time  received  a  cent 
from  the  state  of  Idaho  for  what  he  has  done. 
Naturally,  most  of  the  cons  look  on  him  as  a  friend. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

STARTING    A    BUSINESS    UNDER    DIFFICULTIES. 

At  the  beginning  of  my  second  winter  here  I 
got  a  board  three  feet  long  and  put  up  a  kind  of 
work  bench  on  the  steam  pipes  in  No.  3  House.  The 
only  place  left  for  me  because  the  other  junk  men 
had  grabbed  the  best  locations  was  where  there 
was  poor  light.  The  spaces  in  front  of  the  windows 
had  been  grabbed  by  other  junk  men  the  winter 
before. 

The  second  morning  I  returned  to  work  at  my 
bench  I  found  it  down  on  the  floor,  the  taps  and 
bolts  I  had  fastened  it  to  the  pipes  with  had  been 
removed.  I  got  another  set,  but  this  time  I  pounded 
and  jammed  up  the  threads  on  the  ends  of  the 
bolts  so  the  taps  could  not  be  taken  off.  I  have 
always  thought  some  jealous  junk  maker  that 
didn't  want  to  see  anyone  get  in  the  junk  business 
had  torn  up  my  lay-out  and  so  tried  to  discourage 
me.  But  it  had  just  the  opposite  effect.  I  became 
more  determined  than  ever.  The  little  bank  roll  I 
had  accumulated  from  my  few  sales  in  the  library 
and  the  $10  that  John  B.  left  in  the  office  for  me, 
I  soon  blowed  for  material  and  tools.  I  bought  a 
small  collection  of  cast-away  and  dilapidated  tools 
that  another  junk  dealer  had  discarded.     I  paid 


38  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

him  $3.00  for  these  tools.  The  rest  of  my  money, 
which  was  about  $16,  I  invested  in  material. 

All  winter  I  worked  alone  at  my  bench.  One 
day,  early  in  the  winter  a  sorry  looking,  tall  bean- 
pole with  two  legs  who  was  another  junk  maker 
before  a  window  in  part  of  the  building  invited 
himself  over  to  my  bench,  pushed  some  of  my 
articles  out  of  the  way  and  flopped  down  on  one 
end  of  it. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  you  working  so  hard,  inhal- 
ing all  that  shell  dust  which  you  have  to  do  grinding 
the  shell  down  in  this  kind  of  work,''  he  said,  trying 
to  discourage  me.  "Don't  you  know  there  is 
nothing  in  making  junk?  It  costs  nearly  as  much 
for  the  material  as  you  get  out  of  it." 

He  told  me  he  had  been  making  junk  for  several 
years,  and  did  not  average  over  $15.00  a  year.  "If 
I  were  you,  Murphy,"  he  continued,  "I  would  quit 
it."  I  thanked  him  for  the  information — and  kept 
right  on  at  work. 

The  blow-torch  I  had  was  made  from  a  small  oil 
can.  It  held  about  a  half  a  pint.  I  had  rolled  up  a 
piece  of  cloth  for  wick  and  in  order  to  throw  the 
flame  from  the  wick  onto  the  article  I  wished  to 
heat  or  solder  together  I  used  a  little  tube  about 
a  foot  long.  I  would  blow  through  one  end  while  I 
held  the  other  close  to  the  blaze  and  in  this  way 
would  blow  the  flame  onto  the  article.  It  was  a 
crude  affair  but  I  managed  to  make  it  do.  The  oil 
I  burnt  in  this  I  got  from  an  old  life-timer,  John 
Fleming,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  oil  house.  He 
looked  after  the  coal  oil  used  in  the  prison  and 
dished  it  out  and  the  oil  that  was  spilled  and  was 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  39 

SO  trashy  with  dirt  it  could  not  be  used  run  into  a 
waste  pan.  It  was  no  good  to  the  state  so  he  would 
bottle  it  up  and  bring  it  and  give  it  to  me.  I  would 
strain  it  and  get  all  the  trash  out  of  it  and  use  it  m 
my  hand-made  torch. 

Yqu  see  all  the  junk  men  have  to  have  heat  for 
all  the  silver  work.  Each  souvenir  of  that  kind  is 
two  pieces  soldered  together — ^the  front  piece  is  cut 
down  in  a  way  that  it  can  be  inlaid  with  shell,  while 
the  back  piece  is  solid. 

Old  John  Fleming  was  an  interesting  character. 
He  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  in  1908  for  killing 
a  man  over  a  water-right  quarrel.  He  was  in  the 
death  cell  eighteen  months  and  came  within  a  few 
hours  of  the  gallows.  The  rope  was  stretched  and 
ready,  he  had  been  given  his  last  shave  and  bath 
and  everybody  thought  he  was  a  goner.  The  night 
before  he  was  to  go,  about  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  word 
came  that  he  was  commuted  to  life  in  prison.  When 
the  guard  came  in  and  told  him  the  news  John 
merely  said:  *That's  carrying  a  joke  a  long  ways!" 

John  Fleming  is  now  nearly  70  years  of  age  and 
has  recently  got  the  life  sentence  cut  down  and  I 
think  he  will  be  free  in  a  few  months.  Old  John 
and  myself  were  always  good  friends.  He  seemed 
to  be  square  in  all  his  dealings  and  is  now  a  trusty 
outside  the  walls.  He  has  built  a  little  corral  out 
there  for  the  purpose  of  raising  rabbits.  Every 
Sunday  he  brings  me  a  rabbit.  The  warden  lets 
the  cooks  prepare  anything  like  that  for  the  men, 
but  they  are  not  allowed  to  eat  it  at  the  dining 
table  during  mealtime,  in  front  of  the  other  pris- 
oners who  are  less  fortunate.  I  have  always  thought 


40  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

that  this  order  from  Warden  Cuddy  was  a  good 
one  for  it  hurts  men  to  have  one  of  their  number 
sit  down  among  them  and  enjoy  an  extra  dainty 
even  if  it  isn't  state  food.  So  anything  our  friends 
send  us  or  that  we  buy  ourselves  we  eat  in  the 
yard  or  in  our  cells. 

The  beginning  of  my  second  winter  here  the 
election  changed  the  politics  in  Idaho  and  that 
changed  all  prison  officials. 

Frank  E.  DeKay  came  as  our  new  warden  and 
brought  with  him  an  entire  new  crew.  Shortly 
after  their  arrival  we  were  marching  out  of  the 
dining  room  on  the  way  to  our  cells  after  supper. 
To  one  side  stood  the  new  captain  and  a  few  guards. 
Word  had  been  passed  that  it  was  to  be  Roberts' 
last  day.  He  was  to  leave  on  the  night  train.  I 
wanted  to  shake  hands  with  him  before  he  left  and 
when  I  came  opposite  the  place  where  they  stood  I 
made  away  and  dropped  my  arms  from  the  folded 
position  and  deliberately  bolted  out  of  the  line, 
walked  over  to  the  old  fellow,  shook  hands  with  him 
and  told  him  good-bye.  I  can  truthfully  say  that 
he  was  the  first  policeman  of  any  kind  I  ever  shook 
hands  with. 

The  man  behind  me  followed  suit — ^then  the 
whole  line  swung  over  as  if  they  were  all  of  the 
same  mind  and  as  each  man  passed  Roberts  they 
shook  his  hand,  for  they  all  liked  him.  There  were 
some  few,  too,  that  would  shrink  from  shaking 
hands  in  front  of  his  fellow-prisoners  through  fear 
they  might  be  ridiculed  by  someone  for  shaking 
hands  with  a  guard  of  any  kind;  but  when  they 
saw,  as  they  believed,  one  of  the  hardest  nuts  in  the 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  41 

stir  (prison)  who  would  shake  hands  with  a  screw 
(guard)  deliberately  break  line  to  do  it  they 
obeyed  the  feelings  of  their  hearts  and  did  the 
same.  The  new  guards  looked  dumfounded  while 
the  old  skipper  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  They  could  not 
accuse  me  of  hypocrisy  because  Roberts  was  leav- 
ing and  no  doubt  forever  and  there  was  but  little 
chance  of  any  favors  from  him  in  return;  but  he 
had  treated  me  as  a  man  and  all  I  had  to  offer  him 
as  a  matter  of  appreciation  was  my  heart  and  hand. 

A  con  came  to  me  the  next  morning  and  said : 

"Say,  Pat,  you  were  foolish  to  break  the  line 
last  evening,  they  might  have  put  you  in  the  hara- 
boil  for  that.  Furthermore  you  might  have  stung 
the  new  captain,  you  see  he  and  Roberts  are  oppo- 
site politics  and  he  is  taking  Roberts'  job — they 
may  not  feel  very  well  toward  one  another.'' 

"That's  just  the  reason  I  wanted  to  shake  hands 
with  him — nobody  could  say  I  was  playing  the 
hypocrite,"  1  answered. 

Roberts  would  never  let  a  con  hang  around  him 
and  try  to  button-hole  him  and  come  running  to  him 
with  their  little  gossip.  He  spoke  but  very  little 
and  thought  lots.  I  never  knew  him  to  laugh,  once 
in  a  great  while  he  would  smile.  On  the  death  of  a 
prisoner  I  could  notice  he  felt  sad.  He  was  as 
decent  a  screw  as  I  ever  came  in  contact  with. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
WHITEWASHING  DARK  WALLS. 

Shortly  after  DeKay  became  warden  he  said  he 
had  arranged  with  the  attorney  general  to  allow  all 
state  papers  to  come  into  the  prison.  He  got  good 
applause  from  the  cons  on  this  announcement  for 
never  before  were  we  allowed  Idaho  papers.  We 
could  get  all  magazines  and  outside  of  the  state 
papers  we  wanted  but  they  would  not  let  us  see 
papers  published  in  Idaho.  DeKay  then  told  us  he 
was  going  to  treat  us  right  and  he  would  like  for 
us  to  treat  him  the  same  way.  He  wound  up  by 
saying,  "I  am  going  50-50  with  you  fellows  and 
will  meet  you  that  way." 

After  that  the  cons  always  called  him  "Fifty- 
Fifty."  The  new  force  of  guards  he  brought  with 
him  were  nearly  all  inexperienced  men.  Most  of 
them  had  never  seen  a  penitentiary  or  been  an 
officer  of  any  kind.  But  as  a  rule  their  intentions 
were  good.  During  his  two  years  in  office  DeKay 
had  seven  different  captains  of  the  yard.  They 
came  and  went. 

In  the  spring  following  my  second  winter,  1917, 
I  had  a  nice  little  collection  of  junk.  Over  $100 
worth.    I  made  an  improvement  on  the  display  tray 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  43 

business  that  proved  so  good  all  the  cons  copied 
from  me. 

During  that  summer  DeKay  was  having  a  lot 
of  improvements  done  in  the  prison,  such  as  paint- 
ing all  the  bars,  steel,  woodwork,  and  the  insides  of 
the  walls  of  all  the  buildings  which  were  stone  were 
whitewashed.  Captain  Sebin  who  was  DeKay's 
fourth  captain  in  charge  of  the  whitewash  gang, 
picked  me  for  one  of  his  crew.  Whitewashing  was 
finished  in  a  few  days,  and  Old  Man  Lester,  who 
was  Deputy  Warden,  and  in  charge  of  the  paint 
crew,  was  having  his  troubles  keeping  the  men  at 
work.  Some  of  the  boys  would  tell  him  they  were 
painters  and  they  would  turn  out  to  be  fakes.  You 
see  it  was  a  favor  to  be  put  on  a  working  gang  for 
the  men  working  got  three  meals  a  day,  while  those 
who  were  idle    only    got    two. 

The  warden  before  DeKay,  and  the  one  now, 
gave  three  meals  to  everybody  except  during  the 
short  winter  days,  then  the  idle  men  are  cut  to  two 
meals  a  day.  But  DeKay  gave  only  two  meals  dur- 
ing his  entire  term  to  the  idle  men  but  he  did  his 
best  to  keep  all  he  could  at  work.  As  we  had 
finished  whitewashing  Old  Man  Lester  had  fired  his 
paint  crew  and  Captain  Sebin  did  not  like  for  me 
to  go  back  to  two  meals  as  I  had  worked  good  for 
him.  So  he  pointed  me  out  to  the  deputy  as  a  good 
man  (so  I  found  later) — at  any  rate  the  old  deputy 
came  to  me  and  asked  me  if  I  was  a  painter.  I  told 
him  I  was  not. 

"Well,  you  are  just  the  man  I  am  looking  for 
then,"  he  said,  **you  will  try  and  that  is  more  than 
these  painters  (?)  will  do!'* 


44  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

I  thanked  him  and  went  to  work. 

Later  on  office  work  called  the  Old  Deputy  out 
front  most  of  the  time  and  Captain  Sebin  took  the 
paint  crew.  He  would  fire  painters  right  and  left 
but  would  never  say  a  word  to  me.  He  would  come 
around — not  speak — just  look  at  my  work  and  go 
away.  I  could  not  understand  this  for  I  had  never 
buttonholed  him  in  order  to  get  a  stand-in  like  I 
had  seen  others  do.  I  was  the  last  one  on  the  job 
when  the  last  paint  was  spread.  A  con  trusty  told 
me  that  he  had  heard  Sebin  putting  in  a  good  word 
out  front  for  me.  He  said  he  heard  Sebin  tell 
DeKay  that  "The  painting  would  never  have  been 
finished  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Pat  Murphy." 

My  sales  from  the  Library  during  the  summer 
had  piled  up  quite  a  few  dollars  for  I  had  denied 
myself  quite  a  few  little  things  a  con  usually  spends 
money  for  so  I  was  ready  now  to  build  up  my  junk 
making  outfit.  I  soon  found  a  man  who  had  a  good 
outfit  for  sale.  I  bought  it  from  him  for  $25  cash. 
In  the  deal  I  got  his  work  bench  six  feet  long  and 
his  place  at  the  window.  So  with  my  old  outfit 
combined  with  his  made  me  as  well  fixed  for  tools 
and  a  place  to  work  as  anyone  in  No.  3  House. 
Then  I  bought  a  genuine  blow-torch  for  $5.00.  This 
was  the  only  blow-torch  owned  by  a  con  in  the 
prison  at  that  time  and  the  first  one  that  had  ever 
been  brought  into  No.  3  House.  But  all  junk  men 
have  them  now.  It  happened  that  this  con  I  bought 
the  torch  from  had  always  worked  in  a  state  shop 
and  had  been  given  the  privilege  to  buy  this  torch 
to  work  junk  as  a  side-line. 

My  material  had  arrived  and  I  was  now  well 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  45 

fixed  for  work.  I  was  able  to  keep  two  or  three 
men  working  for  me.  But  I  paid  them  different 
from  the  way  I  myself  had  been  paid  for  my  first 
winter's  work.  If  some  fellow  came  around  and 
wanted  to  work  and  earn  enough  money  to  adver- 
tise his  case  in  order  to  get  before  the  Board  of 
Pardons,  which  was  usually  $5.00,  I  would  let  him 
work  awhile  until  he  had  earned  that  amount. 
Sometimes  I  paid  some  of  these  poor  fellows  for 
work  when  I  did  not  need  their  help. 

Along  in  the  winter  I  was  running  short  on 
money  and  materials.  So  I  would  slough  off  a 
bunch  of  finished  trinkets  at  a  cut  rate  price  to 
some  fellow  who  had  friends  outside  who  would 
help  sell  the  articles  for  him  and  instead  of  having 
him  transfer  the  money  to  me  I  would  let  him  send 
away  and  order  me  the  material  instead. 

About  this  time  a  fish  was  brought  to  the  prison 
by  the  name  of  Dan  Ruth.  Dan  was  also  a  lifer  and 
was  put  in  the  cell  with  me.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
nice  quiet  fellow  so  we  became  friends  and  partners 
in  the  junk  busniess.  Dan  lived  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Weiser,  Idaho;  had  money  and  lots  of  friends 
outside  to  sell  the  junk  for  him.  So  he  agreed  to 
back  me  temporarily  in  money  matters.  With  my 
little  crew  of  three  in  Cell  House  No.  3,  I  would 
work  the  junk  through  the  day  and  at  night  in  our 
cell  Dan  and  I  would  polish  and  shine  the  articles 
up  until  lights  out  at  9 :30  o'clock.  Then  Dan  would 
write  to  his  friends  and  get  them  to  sell  the  junk 
and  we  would  split  the  money. 

After  a  little  while  I  got  the  idea  of  fixing  up 
trays  of  junk  to  send  out  and  having  a  display  card 


46  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

with  each  bunch.  The  card  would  tell  where,  how 
and  by  whom  the  junk  was  made.  Since  I  had  no 
friends  to  write  to  I  hadn't  used  my  writing  privi- 
lege up  to  this  time,  so  Dan  gave  me  the  addresses 
of  some  business  people  and  I  would  use  my  Sun- 
days' writing  privilege  to  write  to  them  and  ask 
them  if  they  w^ould  sell  the  articles  for  me.  Once 
in  a  great  while  I  would  receive  a  favorable  answer. 

Then  I  got  started  getting  addresses  from  news- 
papers and  by  asking  incoming  fish,  also  the  guards 
would  help  me  this  way.  Sometimes  I  would  go  a 
long  time  without  getting  a  single  answer  but  I 
never  gave  up.    I  kept  writing. 

The  following  spring  Dan  was  put  in  the 
kitchen  to  help  the  cooks,  so  I  lost  my  cell  partner 
for  he  was  to  be  on  the  early  unlock  and  had  to  be 
moved  down  from  the  third  tier  where  we  were 
celling  to  a  bottom  tier  of  cells  where  all  the  men 
on  that  unlock  were  kept.  Then  I  sold  him  my  in- 
terest in  the  junk  we  had  out  and  we  ceased  to  be 
partners  in  the  junk  business. 

After  the  junk  work  was  stopped  and  No.  3 
House  closed  up  during  the  days  in  the  spring  I 
loafed  around  the  yard  until  June. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
EXPERIMENTS  IN  PRISON  REFORM. 

Captain  Sebin,  the  man  I  had  painted  under, 
had  exchanged  jobs  with  the  turnkey  so  we  had  our 
fifth  captain  in  a  little  more  than  a  year  under 
Warden  DeKay.  This  new  captain  may  have  meant 
all  right  but  it  seemed  to  me  he  did  not  know 
much  about  men,  or  he  may  have  had  in  mind  a 
prison  or  two  where  "prison  reform**  went  too  far 
into  the  future — that  is  where  cons  are  allowed  to 
govern  themselves  but  naturally  enough  that  proves 
a  failure. 

The  kind  of  men  in  a  prison  as  a  rule  are  not 
very  good  at  governing  themselves  or  maybe  they 
would  not  be  there. 

Prison  reform  is  all  right  and  it  helps  cons.  It 
does  away  with  the  old  brutal  treatment  which  has 
been  the  curse  of  many  prisons,  but  when  a  prison 
loses  all  discipline  and  cons  boss  cons,  allowance  out 
each  other's  food,  or  have  the  power  to  place  men 
from  job  to  job,  it  is  going  a  little  too  far.  It  is 
mighty  near  sure  to  be  a  failure.  One  con  does  not 
like  to  be  bossed  by  another  con  that  is  just  as  bad 
as  he.  And  then  the  cons  that  get  the  upper  hand 
are  usually  selfish — they  get  it  by  having  more 
cheek  than  the  rest — and  it  is  their  nature  to  try  to 


48  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

pull  their  own  friends  up  who  are  in  many  cases 
the  most  undeserving,  then  men  who  may  be  good 
men  but  are  quiet  fellows  and  of  a  retiring  nature 
are  elbowed  back. 

It  seemed  to  me  like  this  new  captain  ought  to 
put  me  to  work  because  I  had  been  tried  with  the 
painting  gang  the  summer  before  and  had  made 
good.    But  he  didn't. 

I  ventured  to  ask  him  a  time  or  two  to  be  put 
to  work  but  he  didn't  have  time  to  talk  to  me  be- 
cause he  was  so  busy  being  buttonholed  by  some 
bon-ton,  or  was  arguing  the  price  of  sheep  with 
some  sheep-herder  who  had  been  sent  up  from  the 
sheep  district.  Then  I  would  see  men  who  had  come 
to  the  prison  long  after  I  had  and  been  tried  out  and 
failed  and  yet  they  were  given  good  jobs.  Or  maybe 
a  fish  who  had  just  come  into  the  prison  and  hap- 
pened to  know  some  other  con  that  had  a  swing 
with  the  bon-ton  gang  would  be  given  a  job.  That 
always  disgusted  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  man 
should  be  treated  for  what  he  is  himself,  whether  in 
a  prison  or  outside,  and  not  according  to  the  influ- 
ence or  pull  that  others  may  have. 

Warden  DeKay  and  Deputy  Warden  Lester  were 
busy  with  men  working  outside  and  of  course 
did  not  know  of  all  this  favoritism. 

One  day  when  DeKay  was  inside  the  yard  I 
collared  him.  ''Say,  Warden,"  I  said,  *'didn't  I 
understand  you  to  say  you  would  go  fifty-fifty  with 
the  men,  when  you  came  here?" 

"That's  just  what  I  said,  Pat,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you  something.  Warden,"  i 
said.    "I  have  been  in  this  prison  three  years  and  as 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  49 

far  as  I  know  my  record's  clean.  I  have  been  tried 
at  work  and  made  good  and  you  know  it — I  painted 
this  whole  penitentiary  for  you  last  summer  when 
others  shirked  on  you.  Now,  every  day  I  see  cons 
who  have  come  to  the  prison  long  after  I  did  and 
who  are  put  to  work.  Some  of  them  are  new  men 
who  you  have  trusted  outside.  They  have 
throwed  you  down  and  now  are  given  good  jobs 
right  over  my  head.  I  have  tried  to  be  a  man, 
Warden,  and  am  now  left  in  idleness — if  you  call 
that  50-50  I  would  like  to  know  what  you  call  99- 
to-1.  I  don't  ask  you  to  take  the  responsibility  of 
putting  me  outside  but  give  me  a  job  inside  the 
walls  and  a  job  where  I  will  not  have  a  convict 
for  a  boss!" 

So  DeKay  gave  me  the  job  of  head  janitor  in 
Cell  House  No.  1  and  I  have  held  this  place  until 
now.  It  surprised  me  when  DeKay  gave  me  this 
job  as  head  janitor  in  Cell  House  No.  1  because  the 
man  that  holds  it  must  be  pretty  much  of  a  trusty. 
You  see  this  is  the  house  where  all  the  long  timers 
are  celled  and  the  hard-boil  and  the  death  cell  are  in 
this  house  and  the  head  janitor's  work  is  to  wait  on 
these  men.  He  goes  at  any  time  to  any  part  of  the 
building  and  there  would  be  nothing  to  hinder  him 
slipping  in  a  knife  or  a  hacksaw  and  give  it  to  the 
parties  that  might  want  it. 

I  was  moved  down  to  the  bottom  row  and  put 
in  the  cell  with  Dan  Ruth  so  Dan  and  I  were  cell- 
mates again  but  never  partners  in  the  junk  business 
any  more.  As  head  janitor  I  was  allowed  to  stay 
out  until  8  o'clock  at  night.  The  rest  were  locked 
up  at  six  o'clock. 


50  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

At  that  time  DeKay  had  four  lock-ups  each  ev- 
ening in  that  house,  4:30  p.  m.,  5:30  and  6.30  and 
8:00.  I  was  the  only  one  left  out  until  8:00  in 
Cell  House  No.  1.  My  two  assistant  janitors  went 
in  at  6:30.  So  there  was  a  good  deal  of  responsi- 
bility on  me. 

Dan  and  I  remained  cell  partners  until  just  a 
few  days  ago  when  he  was  taken  outside  the  walls 
and  given  a  job  cooking  at  the  guards'  quarters. 

The  second  day  after  I  became  head  janitor  of 
House  No.  1,  Guard  Fields,  who  was  cell  house 
tender,  the  day  guard  in  charge  of  No.  1 — came  to 
me  and  called  me  to  one  side  and  with  a  scared  look 
on  his  face  said : 

"Have  you  been  carrying  any  saws  into  the 
hard-boil  row?" 

I  told  him  I  had  not. 

"There  is  one  thing  sure,  Pat,"  he  then  said,  "if 
you  carry  any  package  of  any  kind,  any  note,  or 
anything,  from  one  cell  to  another  or  from  one  con 
to  another,  or  if  they  give  you  anything  to  carry 
just  don't  say  anything  about  it  and  take  it  and 
bring  it  to  me."  He  talked  in  a  manner  to  make 
me  think  he  wanted  to  encourage  me  to  get  the 
men  to  give  me  something  so  I  could  bring  it  to 
him. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Fields,"  I  said,  "it  is  not  my 
intention  to  double-cross  you  in  here  which  you 
have  no  doubt  been  told  that  it  was,  by  the  bon-ton 
clique  who  are  jealous  of  my  being  here  on  this  job; 
or  by  the  two  janitors  who  work  with  me  who  no 
doubt  dislike  me  for  being  given  this  job.  I  am  not 
going  to  double-cross  you.    And  I  give  you  my  word 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  51 

on  that  and  that  I  will  not  carry  packages,  parcels, 
notes,  g-atling  guns,  six-shooters,  dynamite  and  so  on 
from  cell  to  cell;  but  if  a  man  locked  up  offers  me  a 
package  or  note  to  be  carried  to  some  other  party, 
before  accepting  it  I  will  tell  him  of  my  promise  to 
you  and  if  it  contains  anything  he  would  not  wish 
to  pass  through  your  hands  that  I  don't  want  him  to 
give  it  to  me,  for  I  am  not  going  to  work  up  some 
scheme  to  get  my  fellow-prisoners  into  trouble." 

*'In  addition  to  that,"  I  told  him,  **I  have  no- 
ticed, Mr.  Fields,  that  you  have  occasionally  been 
giving  the  keys  to  the  janitors  to  lock  and  unlock 
men — don't  ever  offer  those  keys  to  me  or  ask  me 
to  turn  them  on  a  fellow-prisoner  for  I  will  not 
do  it.  I  am  a  servant  and  not  a  guard.  Now  if 
this  is  not  satisfactory  I  will  go  back  in  the  yard." 

Well,  what  I  said  to  Fields  must  have  made  a 
hit  with  him  for  he  became  my  friend.  He  abso- 
lutely trusted  me  and  believed  in  me. 

A  few  days  later  a  trap  was  laid  for  me  but  the 
party  that  laid  the  trap  sprung  it  on  himself.  He 
told  Fields  that  I  was  going  to  carry  a  knife  to  a 
certain  negro  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  bad  actor 
in  the  hard-boil.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  de- 
scribe the  knife  and  told  Fields  the  day  he  should 
search  the  negro  and  get  it.  But  the  next  day  he 
was  caught  trying  to  slip  the  knife  he  had  de- 
scribed to  the  negro  himself. 

The  fellow  who  tried  to  frame  me  celled  on  the 
top  tier  and  the  negro  on  the  bottom  row  so  he 
tried  to  let  the  knife  down  to  the  negro  on  a  string. 
The  negro  had  wanted  me  to  carry  things  to  him 
that  I  should  not  and  had  put  in  with  the  other  fel- 


52  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

low  to  get  me  and  would  have  told  them  I  gave  him 
the  knife. 

But  it  was  one  scheme  that  didn't  work. 

The  yard  at  that  time,  under  the  captain  in 
charge,  had  lost  all  discipline.  Nights  after  lock-up 
the  cons  would  call  from  one  tier  of  cells  to  another 
and  from  cell  to  cell  and  cell  house  to  cell  house. 
They  would  sing,  whistle,  yell,  scream,  and  some 
would  beat  on  the  sides  of  the  cells  until  anybody 
that  wanted  to  could  neither  sleep,  read  or  have  a 
little  peace.  They  would  keep  up  this  racket  until 
long  after  lights  were  out.  About  one  night  a  week 
they  would  have  what  the  cons  called  a  pow-wow, 
which  is  a  riot.  They  would  throw  any  bottles  or 
other  articles  they  could  from  their  cells;  they 
would  pound  and  hammer  the  bars  and  walls  of 
their  cells  and  shriek  and  yell  until  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  My  God,  how  I  would  wish 
I  was  far  away,  locked  in  some  lonely  dungeon 
where  I  could  neither  see  or  hear  any  human  being, 
when  they  would  have  those  riots.  But  those  who 
felt  like  I  did  were  helpless.  They  could  not  stop 
the  others  and  the  guards  would  not  try  until  the 
riot  got  started  good  and  proper  and  then  they 
couldn't  stop  it.  Warden  DeKay  would  come  in 
and  lock  up  whole  tiers  of  cells  on  bread  and  water 
for  a  day  or  two  and  if  there  were  some  men  on 
that  tier  that  had  not  made  noise  they  suffered 
for  the  rest. 

It  was  the  captain's  fault.  One  guard  said  he 
had  spoken  to  the  captain  and  the  captain  had  said : 
"Just  let  the  boys  go,  as  long  as  they  quiet  down  by 
9 :30  lights  out."    Of  course  when  9 :30  would  come 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  63 

the  men  were  worked  up  to  riot  pitch  and  there  was 
no  "quiet''  to  it.  A  little  firmness  at  the  beginning 
would  have  stopped  it  all — ^just  a  word  to  the  be- 
ginners of  it  would  have  made  them  know  nothing 
like  that  could  be  pulled  and  they  would  have 
quit.  But  instead  of  that  there  was  weak  talk  and 
cons  don't  respect  a  guard  that  doesn't  talk  firm  and 
back  it  up.  Weakness  just  invites  prison  riots  and 
noise  and  rioting  is  like  starting  of  a  large  fire  in 
a  haystack — grab  the  hand  that  strikes  the  match 
and  you  have  it  out  of  danger,  or  leave  it  go  a  little 
while,  and  it  is  beyond  your  control. 

Under  that  captain  then  in  charge  the  cons 
would  go  in  any  shop  they  wished  without  permis- 
sion. The  blacksmith  shop  and  the  kitchen  became 
prominent  loafing  places.  The  head  cook  was  given 
no  protection  to  keep  them  out  of  the  kitchen.  Some 
would  go  in  and  help  themselves  to  anything  they 
wanted  and  again  some  accused  the  cook  of  ped- 
dling food;  (but  I  am  prepared  to  say  there  were 
private  messes  for  the  favorite  element).  The 
other  I  don't  know.  But  for  the  favorites  the  best 
was  picked  out  from  the  main  line  mess.  When  the 
meat  was  issued  from  the  store-room  to  the  kitchen 
with  the  daily  supplies  the  flesh  would  be  stripped 
from  the  bones  for  the  bon-ton  element  and  the 
bones  would  be  cut  up  and  boiled  and  dished  out 
on  the  main  line  mess. 

This  was  one  of  the  evils  of  no  discipline  during 
that  administration.  Our  main  line  mess  would  be 
served  with  carrots  boiled  in  plain  water  and 
chopped  bone  and  sit  down  to  it  and  look  across  at 


54  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

the  others  of  the  bon-ton  living  on  the  fat  of  the 
land  that  had  ought  to  have  been  divided  equally. 

There  is  a  shop  below  the  kitchen  in  the  basement 
in  which  there  was  also  always  a  great  leak  of  food 
issued.  This  shop  was  very  handy,  being  right  un- 
der the  kitchen.  Usually  there  were  six  men  em- 
ployed in  it.  You  could  go  in  it  and  see  them  sit- 
ting down  to  a  spread  that  would  make  a  restaurant 
man  jealous.  Each  one  of  these  six  would  go  and 
get  his  friends  and  bring  them  down  in  this  shop 
to  join  them  in  their  big  feasts.  This  was  all  state 
food,  mind  you,  that  had  been  taken  from  the 
rations  for  all.  We  were  divided,  you  might  say, 
into  three  factions.  One  faction  weeded  from  the 
state  grub  and  lived  off  the  best;  another  faction 
had  money  sent  to  them  or  were  junk  makers  and 
had  money  they  got  for  that — ^this  faction  I  be- 
longed to — ^we  sent  out  and  bought  our  food;  the 
other  faction  who  had  no  money  and  were  quiet  and 
of  a  retiring  disposition  went  into  the  big  mess  and 
ate  what  was  left  for  them.  Poor  fellows,  they 
simply  laid  down  and  suffered  under  the  treatment 
they  got.  That  is  why  I  say  it  would  be  safer  and 
cheaper  and  better  for  the  convicts  to  have  an  old 
experienced  man  as  captain  of  the  yard. 

Of  course  no  one  would  want  a  brute  of  the 
old  school,  but  a  good,  firm,  square  man.  What 
few  old  time  officials  who  looked  on  convicts  as 
brutes  are  passing  out  of  date,  the  world  is  getting 
enlightened  and  I  will  say  this :  Idaho  is  pretty  well 
in  the  lead  of  most  states  in  its  humane  way  of 
handling  its  wrongdoers — still  it  has  room  for  im- 
provement. 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  55 

One  thing,  instead  of  having  the  men  laying 
around  in  idleness,  just  put  some  kind  of  a  factory 
in  the  prison  that  could  be  run  for  the  benefit  of  tne 
cons  and  the  state.  Make  clothing  and  shoes  for  the 
other  state  institutions  such  as  the  two  insane 
asylums,  the  reformatory,  the  orphans*  home,  etc., 
and  pay  the  men  a  percentage  of  the  profit  for  their 
work,  say  a  third  or  a  half,  and  the  rest  of  the 
profit  go  to  the  state.  The  men  would  feel  better 
and  would  go  out  into  the  world  better  men  physi- 
cally, mentally,  morally,  and  the  state  would  be 
relieved  of  a  big  expense  as  they  now  have  to  buy 
clothing,  shoes  and  so  forth  at  a  high  price.  And  in 
addition  to  that  the  percentage  a  man  receives 
could  be  sent  to  his  wife  and  family,  if  the  man  has 
Qne,  to  help  support  them.  So  it  would  benefit  a 
good  many  people  if  the  cons  were  kept  at  useful 
labor. 

Of  course  I  do  not  suggest  that  factories  be  put 
in  for  the  benefit  of  contractors  or  wealthy  individ- 
uals which  has  been  the  curse  of  many  prisons, 
especially  in  the  south,  where  for  minor  offenses 
men  have  been  sentenced  to  long  terms  at  the  most 
dangerous  and  hardest  labor  under  revolting  con- 
ditions in  coal  mines,  on  farms,  in  lumber  camps 
and  similar  places,  and  which  places  were  owned 
by  wealthy  persons  or  corporations  who  permit 
their  superintendents  to  mistreat  these  poor  Ameri- 
cans with  such  beastly  inhumanity  that  the  United 
States  government  has  stepped  in  in  some  cases 
and  sent  some  of  the  brutal  task-masters  to  federal 
prisons  for  long  terms. 


56  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

But  it  seems  to  me  that  industries  conducted  by 
the  state  and  with  proper  regard  for  the  good  of  all 
concerned  would  be  a  benefit  if  carried  on  inside 
the  prison. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
DEVELOPING   A   PAYING   BUSINESS. 

During  the  summer  my  junk  was  selling  fast. 
Good  people  outside  were  taking  an  interest  in  me 
and  helping  me  sell  my  articles.  Especially  the 
Murphy  Cigar  company  was  helping  dispose  of  the 
junk  I  made.  Their  stores  in  Boise  were  handling 
the  articles.  And  before  I  go  any  farther,  I  wish 
to  make  it  plain  here  that  Fred  Murphy,  the  prin- 
cipal owner  of  these  stores,  is  in  no  way  whatever 
related  to  me,  but  was  an  entire  stranger  until  his 
stores  were  allowed  to  handle  my  junk  and  his 
assistance  to  me  has  been  entirely  disinterested.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  it  is  only  fair  to  all  parties  to 
ftave  this  understood. 

Fred  Murphy  and  his  manager,  Mr.  Dwyer;  his 
assistant  manager,  Mr.  Snyder;  Mr.  Pond,  head 
clerk  of  one  of  the  largest  stores  in  Boise,  and 
others  of  the  Murphy  company  have  taken  a  deep 
interest  in  selling  my  junk  and  have  helped  me  in 
every  way  they  can.  Mr.  Dwyer  has  gotten  other 
business  men  over  the  state  interested  and  many 
of  these  also  are  handling  my  junk. 

That  fall,  when  the  days  got  short  and  daylight 
saving  went  into  effect,  eight  o'clock  came  long  af- 
ter dark.    The  wall  guards  had  been  taken  off  the 


58  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

wall  at  six  and  myself  and  a  few  others  whose  work 
kept  them  out  until  late  were  still  left  out  until 
eight  o'clock.  I  could  go  any  place  in  the  yard  I 
wished  the  same  as  the  rest  but  I  never  ventured 
outside  the  cell  house  after  it  became  dusk.  Some 
of  the  night  guards  thought  I  was  afraid  of  boogie- 
boos,  I  reckon,  and  one  night  they  asked  me  to 
make  a  trip  to  the  hospital  on  an  errand  for  them. 
The  hospital  was  on  the  farther  side  of  the  yard. 

I  told  them  all  right,  but  I  wanted  one  of  them 
to  go  with  me.  The  guards  looked  at  me  in  a  sur- 
prised sort  of  way.  Still  I  insisted  that  one  go  with 
me.  On  the  way  to  the  hospital  the  guard  who 
finally  accompanied  me  said: 

"Pat,  why  wouldn't  you  come  over  here  alone?*' 

I  related  to  him  what  had  happened  to  me  when 
I  first  came  in  as  a  fish  and  how  I  had  been 
framed  into  the  hard-boil. 

"Fm  not  taking  any  chances  of  that  happen mg 
any  more,'*  I  told  him,  "and  by  having  you  along 
I've  got  an  iron-clad  alibi  that  would  be  hard  to 
break  by  some  con  who  might  have  a  motive  and  go 
to  the  front  and  say  I  had  been  trying  to  get  over 
the  walls." 

The  guard  went  right  into  the  air  when  I  told 
him  this.  "Just  let  them  try  it,"  he  said.  "I'm  a 
new  man — I've  only  been  here  a  few  weeks,  but  I 
know  one  thing,  Murphy,  you  have  friends  out 
front.  Mr.  Lester  told  me  in  particular  that  you 
could  be  trusted,  but  there  were  others  he  told  me 
to  watch  if  they  were  out  late." 

The  names  of  those  Mr.  Lester  told  the  guard 
to  watch  were  all  short-timers. 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  59 

What  the  guard  told  me  made  me  feel  pretty 
good,  because  Mr.  Lester,  who  was  deputy  warden, 
had  been  an  Indian  fighter  in  the  early  days  of 
Idaho  and  he  has  been  connected  with  prisons  for 
the  last  forty  years  and  what  time  he  was  not 
directly  associated  with  prisons  he  has  been  an  offi- 
cer of  some  kind  so  you  might  say  he  has  been 
handling  the  so-called  criminal  class  all  of  his 
life  and  his  judgment  of  men  was  considered  the 
best  by  all.  So  I  will  admit  it  made  me  feel  good 
that  a  man  like  him,  who  knew  me  as  a  lifer  as  I 
was,  considered  I  was  a  man  to  be  trusted  much 
more  than  men  with  short  sentences  and  I  became 
more  determined  than  ever  to  see  that  he  never  had 
any  reason  to  think  otherwise.  It  is  things  like 
that  that  encourages  a  man. 

That  winter  as  my  janitor  work  would  keep  me 
much  of  the  time  away  from  Cell  House  No.  3,  I 
made  arrangements  with  other  parties  to  use  my 
tools  and  buy  all  the  material  they  could  make 
intoijunk  and  turn  out  in  the  rough.  Then  I  would 
bring  the  junk  into  No.  1  House  and  I  would  polisn 
it  and  give  them  a  percentage  of  the  junk  for  their 
work. 

In  that  way  I  kept  the  business  growing.  Just 
about  this  time  another  election  changed  the  tables 
in  politics  and  Mr.  Cuddy  became  our  new  warden. 
Mr.  Cuddy  was  experienced  with  prison  work,  hav- 
ing been  connected  with  the  prison  many  years  ago. 
And  most  of  the  help  he  brought  with  him  were  ex- 
perienced men. 

Mr.  Cuddy,  himself,  is  a  benevolent  old  man  of 
sixty  odd  years  and  he  is  a  strong  advocate  of 


60  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

prison  reform  but  he  keeps  his  ideas  well  within  the 
bounds  of  reason.  He  put  the  thumb  screws  on  all 
riots,  on  the  yelling  from  cell  to  cell,  right  off  the 
reel ;  he  abolished  all  private  messes  and  stopped  the 
different  leaks  on  the  food  that  was  issued — the 
bon-tons  had  to  get  on  the  same  mess  with  the  rest 
of  us.  All  ate  together,  at  the  same  time,  at  the 
same  tables  and  of  the  same  food.  The  prisoner 
who  was  head  man  of  the  shop  just  beneath  the 
kitchen  and  who  had  been  robbing  our  stomachs 
went  out,  his  time  having  expired.  The  rest  of 
the  crew  was  removed,  as  was  also  the  head  cook 
and  Dan  Ruth  became  head  cook.  They  guaranteed 
Dan  backing  by  keeping  all  loafers  out  of  the 
kitchen.  The  food  immediately  got  better.  We  all 
ate  well  and  not  only  that  but  Mr.  Cuddy  gave  us 
fish  twice  a  week  and  milk  and  sugar  every  morn- 
ing, something  that  was  never  before  issued  to  the 
prisoners  in  the  history  of  the  penitentiary  and  we 
all  enjoyed  this — not  just  a  special  few. 

In  addition  to  the  better  food  the  men  got,  the 
books  show  that  the  expense  of  feeding  the  cons 
was  much  less  than  it  was  under  the  previous  inex- 
perienced warden  and  captains. 

Mr.  Cuddy's  deputy  was  Mr.  John  Welker,  an 
old  experienced  officer,  having  worked  here  before 
and  who  had  spent  many  years  handling  men  at 
other  prisons.  Some  said  he  was  cranky,  but  he 
was  firm  and  just. 

Our  parole  officer  was  Mr.  George  Welker — 
these  two  Welkers  are  no  relation  to  each  other, 
but  just  happen  to  be  of  the  same  name.  I  believe 
some  of  the  officers  and  cons  call  the  parole  officer 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  61 

"Parson"  which  is  a  nickname  I  suppose,  because 
he  is  not  a  preacher,  but  the  parole  officer  under 
DeKay  was.  The  parole  officer,  Mr.  Welker,  was  a 
sheriff  at  Lewiston,  Idaho,  for  many  years,  and 
which  city  is  his  home.  He  is  well  liked  by  the 
cons.  He  does  all  he  can  for  us  and  if  word  is 
received  at  the  prison  that  some  boy's  mother  is 
laying  at  the  point  of  death  the  parole  officer  will 
go  before  the  governor  and  ask  for  a  reprieve  for  the 
boy  so  he  can  be  allowed  to  visit  the  bedside  of  his 
mother.  This  has  been  done  in  several  instances, 
but  before  it  is,  Welker  is  always  sure  he  is  right, 
and  he  has  always  been  successful. 

Along  in  June  last  summer  Mr.  Tom  Jolly  came 
on  the  scene  and  went  to  work  here  as  the  Cell 
House  Tender  in  No.  1  House,  in  other  words  he 
was  day  guard  at  this  house.  Years  ago  he  was 
employed  at  the  prison  as  Turnkey  and  Captain  of 
the  Yard.  This  was  his  first  work  at  the  prison 
since  1913  and  for  the  last  few  years  he  has  been 
connected  with  the  police  force.  Mr.  Jolly  has  been 
an  officer  of  the  law  for  the  last  25  years.  A  lot  of 
the  time  he  has  been  serving  as  high  sheriff.  Jolly 
is  strict  if  necessary  but  could  not  be  mean  if  he 
wanted  to. 

Last  summer,  owing  to  a  shortage  of  guards, 
Mr.  Jolly  put  most  of  his  time  in  the  yard.  This 
called  him  away  from  Cell  House  No.  1.  He  put 
confidence  enough  in  me  to  leave  me  in  care  of  the 
house.  My  instructions  were  to  allow  no  one  to 
enter.  When  some  of  the  cons  found  out  that 
extra  duty  called  Jolly  away  from  the  house  they 
would  come  to  me  and  want  to  make  a  trip  to  their 


62  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

cells,  giving  all  sorts  of  excuses.  But  I  would  stop 
these  birds  at  the  door  of  the  cell  house  and  tell 
them  they  would  have  to  get  permission  from  Mr. 
Jolly  and  bring  him  personally  to  give  it.  Some  of 
them  threatened  to  go  to  the  warden  and  get  me 
fired.  But  I  kept  them  out  because  it  was  orders 
and  it  seemed  to  me  the  only  right  thing  to  do.  I 
realized  the  trust  Mr.  Jolly  had  put  in  me  when  he 
left  me  in  charge  alone  to  care  for  the  house  and 
not  that  I  wanted  to  appear  important,  or  had  an 
idea  that  I  was  an  officer,  but  because  I  was  deter- 
mined to  try  and  hold  up  the  hands  of  the  man  that 
had  believed  in  me  and  trusted  me,  I  kept  the  cons 
out  and  obeyed  my  instructions,  even  if  some  of 
the  cons  did  try  to  bluff  or  get  sore  about  it. 

That  has  been  my  motto  ever  since  I  have  been 
here.  When  anyone  believes  in  me  to  try  and  not 
disappoint  them. 

Just  recently  a  guard  told  me,  and  who  is  still 
connected  with  the  prison,  that  when  he  arrived 
here  as  an  official  some  months  ago  Deputy  Warden 
Welker  pointed  me  out  to  him  and  said : 

"There  is  Pat  Murphy,  you  can  trust  him;  I 
never  see  him  idle;  he  is  studying  books,  making 
junk  or  doing  something  all  the  time,  he  is  the  most 
determined  man  I  ever  saw  and  he  is  one  of  the 
best  prisoners  here."  Now  I  confess  this  is  encour- 
aging to  have  old  experienced  men  like  Welker  and 
Mr.  Lester  and  others  hold  that  opinion  of  me. 
But  I  cannot  understand  how  they  know  this  as  I 
have  never  tried  to  hang  around  them,  flatter  them 
or  button-hole  them;  and  I  have  never  told  them 
this  myself.     Of  course  I  know  in  my  heart  I  am 


BElHIND     GRAY     WALLS  63 

going  on  the  square  but  I  do  not  understand  how 
they  know  it. 

Well,  as  another  winter  came  on, — which  is  the 
one  just  passed — my  junk  making  outfit  became  too 
small  to  supply  my  outlet.  I  had  on  hand  at  this 
time  a  few  hundred  dollars  I  had  accumulated,  so  I 
bought  out  Harry  Orchard  who  was  the  largest 
junk  maker  in  the  prison  during  the  fourteen  years 
of  his  confinement.  Harry  was  pretty  well  stocked 
up  in  this  line.  In  the  bargain  I  got  all  his  finished 
and  unfinished  junk,  also  his  large  lathe  machine, 
which  is  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in  the  prison,  also 
a  lot  of  first  class  tools  of  all  descriptions.  The 
lathe  machine  was  sent  to  Harry  some  years  ago 
and  it  alone  cost  over  $700  new.  I  gave  him  $450 
cash  for  all  the  stuff  he  had. 

Harry  had  made  and  mended  shoes  for  the  state 
for  so  many  years  that  they  finally  let  him  buy 
leather  and  make  shoes  to  sell  to  the  visitors,  so  he 
had  bought  a  shoe  making  machine  for  that  purpose 
and  decided  to  go  out  of  the  junk  making  business 
for  good. 

Now  that  I  had  all  these  tools  it  was  up  to  me 
to  find  a  place  to  put  them  so  I  could  use  them. 
Finally  I  went  to  Captain  Jolly  and  told  him  how 
it  was  and  he  allowed  me  to  bring  the  big  lathe 
machine  into  Cell  House  No.  1  and  use  the  outfit 
there  and  this  was  a  great  privilege.  It  was  a 
pretty  bold  thing  for  me  to  ask  but  Jolly  proved 
true  blue  and  consented;  first,  however,  he  said 
he  would  have  to  talk  it  over  with  the  warden.  He 
went  out  front  and  pretty  soon  he  came  back  with 
a  smile  on  his  face  and  said  he  and  the  warden  had 


64  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

decided  to  let  me  bring  the  machine  into  Cell  House 
No.  1. 

I  believe  I  became  for  the  time  being  the  happi- 
est man  on  earth,  not  alone  for  what  I  myself 
might  be  benefited  from  these  things  but  to  realize 
that  they  had  put  so  much  trust  and  confidence 
in  me. 


CHAPTER    X. 
GETTING  INTO  BUSINESS  IN  EARNEST 

It  took  eight  men  to  carry  the  lathe  machine 
from  where  it  was  at  Harry  Orchard's  place  to 
Cell  House  No.  1.  After  I  got  the  machine  up  I 
found  I  would  have  to  have  an  electric  motor  to 
run  it.  I  bought  a  two-horse  power  motor  and 
what  wire  was  needed  for  connections.  The  motor 
and  wire  cost  me  $140.00.  There  was  a  meter  put 
in  so  I  would  pay  for  the  electricity  I  used  which 
came  from  the  city.  Altogether  it  cost  me  about 
$600.00  to  get  fixed  up,  but  I  could  sure  make 
junk  now. 

My  outfit  was  ten  times  more  costly  and  better 
than  all  the  other  junk  outfits  in  the  prison  com- 
bined. It  was  quite  an  improvement  from  the  time 
when  I  was  a  fish  rubbing  bones  down  on  the  rocks 
to;  make  toothpicks  without  any  tools  whatever, 
while  now,  I  just  throw  on  the  switch  and  let  the 
machinery  do  the  rest.  So  some  of  the  boys  who 
looked  at  me  as  being  hopeless  less  than  five  years 
ago  have  another  thought  coming  now. 

I  sold  the  old  outfit  I  had  and  am  done  with 
Cell  House  No.  3  for  good.  But  I  was  under  a 
mental  strain  all  the  time  the  machinery  was  in 
House  No,  1  for  the  great  confidence  that  had  been 


66  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

put  in  me  caused  me  to  be  constantly  on  the  alert 
through  fear  that  in  some  way  some  tool  might 
wander  into  the  hands  of  some  foolish  prisoner.  I 
realized  the  trust  that  was  put  in  me  and  was  con- 
stantly on  guard,  and  saw  that  no  con  got  near  the 
machinery  without  my  eyes  on  him.  It  was  a  great 
responsibility,  for  to  have  allowed  an  inmate  to 
have  used  any  one  of  these  tools  in  a  way  that 
might  prove  injurious  to  the  men  who  had  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  have  this  privilege  would  have 
proved  me  to  be  a  cur  of  the  worst  type. 

Now  after  one  winter's  use  with  this  machinery 
in  House  No.  1  I  found  that  in  the  place  it  was  on 
account  of  the  danger  of  something  happening  if  I 
did  not  watch  day  and  night  almost  that  I  could  not 
turn  it  loose  as  I  wished  and  then  again  I  wanted 
to  get  more  machinery.  Then  I  studied  out  the 
plan  of  building  a  shop  of  my  own. 

Finally  I  found  Warden  Cuddy  and  Captain 
Jolly  together  and  talked  it  over  with  them.  I 
showed  them  the  advantage  it  might  be  to  the  state 
to  let  me  have  a  shop  that  was  private  and  at  my 
own  expense.  I  wanted  to  build  a  regular  work 
shop  at  the  outside  front  corner  of  House  No.  1.  I 
showed  them  the  logic  of  it — ^how  it  would  benefit 
the  state  and  benefit  me.  As  they  are  both  men 
above  the  average  intelligence  they  saw  how  if  I 
was  given  this  privilege  it  would  be  possible  for 
me,  in  a  few  minutes*  time  with  my  machinery,  to 
repair  minor  breaks  on  the  state  automobiles  or 
other  machinery  such  as  the  state  pump  and  so 
forth  if  such  repairs  were  needed.  And  this  too 
without  any  cost  to  the  state.    In  addition  to  saving 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  67 

money  it  would  save  time  as  they  would  otherwise 
have  to  send  away  because  the  state  had  no  mach- 
inery such  as  mine. 

Warden  Cuddy  and  Captain  Jolly  allowed  me  to 
build  my  shop. 

So  I  put  up  the  workshop  I  am  now  in.  I  used 
new  lumber,  have  seven  windows  in  the  shop,  a 
cement  floor  and  it  is  well  painted.  To  put  up 
this  shop  cost  me  $180.00.  I  bought  a  few  dollars 
more  of  electric  wire  to  make  necessary  connections 
and  pay  for  what  power  I  use  to  run  the  machinery. 
Also  have  two  electric  lights  which  I  turn  on  every 
evening  when  I  leave  the  shop.  Out  front  and 
around  the  shop  was  originally  nothing  but  scatter- 
ing rocks.  I  got  permission  to  remove  the  rock  and 
in  their  place  I  put  good  soil  and  I  have  planted  a 
beautiful  lavni  and  flower  beds.  The  green  grass 
and  flowers  look  pretty  nice  inside  the  prison  wails 
where  most  of  the  rest  of  what  one  can  see  is  just 
bare  ground  and  rocks  with  the  rock-walls  all 
around  and  a  little  sky  overhead.  You  might  say  it 
is  a  little  like  bringing  a  bit  of  God's  out-of-doors 
inside  where  eyes  that  otherwise  wouldn't  see  any 
of  it  can  keep  from  forgetting  how  beautiful  the 
wide  meadows  and  the  green  hills  and  the  valleys 
beyond  "gray  walls"  really  are. 

I  just  recently  bought  a  large  finishing  or  pol- 
ishing machine  which  would  ordinarily  have  cost 
new  $200.00.  This  machine,  which  is  in  good  run- 
ning order  I  bought  at  a  greatly  reduced  price  and 
it  is  my  intention  to  buy  more  machinery  and  keep 
building  up  and  up  and  up — 

I  believe  the  only  way  that  is  within  the  reach 


68  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

of  my  power  to  repay  the  good  officials  and  the 
people  at  large  who  have  interested  themselves  in 
a  way  to  lighten  my  burden  and  make  my  road 
brighter  is  to  do  the  best  I  can  with  what  I  have 
and  make  good  inside  the  prison  as  far  as  in  my 
power.  To  do  that  I  must  build  up  and  up  and 
make  my  work  succeed  not  only  in  producing  more 
junk  and  better  junk  but  by  developing  my  own 
ability  to  the  best  of  my  opportunity. 

Many  people  have  written  me  letters  and  I  wish 
I  could  reproduce  them  here  but  it  would  take  too 
much  space  and  yet  I  would  like  for  all  the  world 
to  know  that  there  are  many  good  people  outside  of 
prison  walls  who  are  thoughtful  of  those  who  are 
inside.  Some  of  these  letters  have  some  wonderful 
things  in  them  and  I  am  going  to  print  at  least  a 
few  because  the  ideas  they  have  given  me  seem  to 
be  for  the  general  betterment  of  prison  conditions 
and  the  lives  of  prisoners.  I  do  not  want  to  take 
the  liberty  of  giving  the  official  names  but  the  let- 
ters are  as  they  were  written. 

An  official  showed  me  the  following  which  was 
written  to  him  by  another  old  official  who  had  had 
much  experience  with  prisons. 

"Butte,  Mont,  Oct.  18,  1919. 
"Mr.  G 

Box  58,  Boise,  Idaho. 

"Dear  Friend: — I  just  received  yours  of  the 
15th  inst.  stating  you  had  gone  to  work  at  the 
Idaho  State  Penitentiary  and  as  I  realize  you  have 
had  no  experience  in  work  of  that  kind  I  am  going 
to  take  the  liberty  of  giving  you  a  few  pointers 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  69 

which  I  have  learned  from  broad  experience  in 
handling  criminals.  You  will  find  the  convict  as  a 
rule  about  the  same  as  any  ordinary  man  outside. 
Do  not  always  look  at  a  prisoner  for  what  he  has 
been  or  it  is  supposed  he  has  done — look  at  him 
for  what  he  is  and  for  what  he  is  trying  to  do.  You 
will  find  some  of  them  with  a  strong  sense  of  honor, 
especially  among  those  who  have  been  sent  up  for 
the  rest  of  their  natural  lives  *  *  "  (there  is  then 
some  personal  reference  to  myself  which  expressed 
confidence  in  me  and  which  I  will  not  publish  be- 
cause I  do  not  want  to  be  placed  in  the  position  of 
blowing  my  own  horn  and  which  it  might  sound 
like  I  was  doing  if  I  printed  the  rest  of  the  letter) . 
The  letter  was  from  an  officer  formerly  here  and  I 
publish  it  just  to  show  that  there  are  some  men  who 
handle  prisoners  who  have  the  power  to  see  that 
even  inside  of  prisons  men  are  still  men. 

On  January  1st,  1918,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  a 
well-to-do  business  man  of  Halfway,  Oregon,  whose 
address  was  given  me  by  a  guard.  I  wrote  and  told 
him  I  was  in  the  penitentiary  serving  a  life  sentence 
and  asked  him  to  sell  my  trinkets  and  I  got  the 
following  reply: 

Halfway,  Oregon,  March  13,  1918. 
"Mr.  Patrick  Murphy, 

Boise,  Idaho. 
"Dear  sir: — Mr.  N.  D handed  me  your  let- 
ter and  in  reply  I  will  say  we  have  two  boys  who 
are  very  much  interested  in  helping  you  and  you 
may  send  anything  you  have  to  us  and  they  will 
try  and  sell  it  for  you.    We  are  all  sympathy  for 


70  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

anyone  in  your  position  and  I  sincerely  trust  that 
some  way,  some  time,  you  may  walk  out  and  again 
become  a  free  human  being. 

"I  have  a  little  magazine  sticking  around  some- 
where, written  to  prisoners,  and  I  am  going  to  take 
the  liberty  of  looking  it  up  and  sending  it  to  you. 
I  greatly  admire  your  courage  and  ambition  in  try- 
ing to  produce  something  to  help  support  yourself. 
Personally  I  do  not  believe  in  prisons,  as  I  think 
they  fall  far  short  of  accomplishing  the  desired  re- 
sults. It  matters  not  to  me  what  a  convict  has 
done,  the  fact  that  he  still  lives,  feels,  and  no 
doubt,  suffers  untold  tortures,  so  he  has  my  love 
and  sjonpathy. 

**I  just  came  home  from  Portland  and  I  saw 
much  of  the  war  while  outside.  The  war  is  a  ter- 
rible thing,  isn't  it?  So  many  soldiers  being  sent  to 
France.  I  was  over  to  Vancouver  and  they  now 
have  8,000 — ^they  are  expecting  10,000  more  in  a 
few  days. 

**I  am  a  very  busy  woman,  as  I  not  only  work  in 
the  store  but  look  after  sheep  as  well,  but  believe 
me,  if  you  read  and  would  like  any  kind  of  reading 
matter  I  should  be  more  than  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity of  sending  you  anything  I  have. 

"With  every  good  wish  to  you  I  am. 

Very  sincerely,  Mrs.  W. " 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  such  letters  as  the 
foregoing  are  treasures  to  a  man  imprisoned — **for 
the  term  of  his  natural  life" — ^behind  gray  walls. 
They  bring  new  hope  in  humankind  and  speak  of  a 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  71 

spirit  of  friendship  in  the  world  that  keeps  alive  the 
desire  in  the  heart  of  a  man  to  "make  good." 

Another  letter  I  prize  very  much  was  one  from 
Mr.  L.  I.  Purcell,  editor  of  the  Weiser  Signal.  I 
had  written  to  Mr.  Purcell  to  help  me  place  my  junk 
and  sell  it  in  his  town.  When  I  wrote  I  did  not 
know  the  business  he  was  engaged  in.  He  re- 
sponded with  a  very  kind  offer  to  do  all  he  could  to 
help  me  and  published  my  letter  in  the  paper  and  it 
resulted  in  bringing  me  several  orders. 

And  there  are  dozens  of  others,  each  one  breath- 
ing a  kindness  and  spirit  to  help  a  man  when  he  is 
up  against  it,  and  they  show  me  more  and  more 
that  deep  down  inside  of  the  human  race  there  is  a 
disposition  to  give  every  man  a  show. 


CHAPTER  XL 


MORE  LETTERS  AND  A  BURGLARY. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  letters  that  have 
been  sent  to  me  by  people  who  have  interested 
themselves  in  my  case  and  the  efforts  to  help  me 
sell  the  product  of  my  junk  shop,  I  feel  inclined  to 
make  especial  mention  of  a  couple  more  communi- 
cations. 

In  October,  1919,  I  got  a  letter  from  the  man- 
ager of  the  Murphy  Cigar  Stores  and  whose  busi- 
ness calls  him  to  various  parts  of  the  state.  It  was 
as  follows: 

"Murphy  Cigar  Co., 
Boise,  Idaho,  Oct.  30,  1919. 

Mr.  P.  C.  Murphy,  Box  58,  Boise,  Idaho. 

Dear  Sir — I  am  leaving  Boise  in  a  few  days  for 
a  loop  over  the  country  and  will  speak  to  business 
men  on  my  rounds  and  get  you  more  orders  and  will 
write  you  in  regard  to  who  will  sell  your  articles. 
"Yours  truly,  Dwyer." 

Mr.  Dwyer  kept  his  word  and  got  business  men 
to  handle  my  articles  in  several  towns.  This,  in 
addition  to  the  great  interest  taken  by  the  sales- 
men in  the  Murphy  stores  in  trying  to  help  me  dis- 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  73 

pose  of  my  junk  has  been  a  big  factor  in  helping 
me  to  build  up  the  business  the  way  I  have  been 
able  to  do. 

One  store  in  Weiser  that  was  selling  my  articles 
was  burglarized. 

The  news  was  sent  me  in  the  following  letter 
which  was  written  by  the  gentleman  running  the 
place. 

**Mr.  Pat  Murphy,  Boise,  Idaho. 

*'Dear  Sir : — The  Xmas  present  you  sent  me  was 
received  in  good  order  and  please  accept  my  thanks 
for  the  same.  It  meant  more  to  me  than  if  some 
folks  had  presented  me  with  a  Fifty  Dollar  Check. 

''Now,  I  have  some  bad  news  for  you.  Sunday 
night  someone  broke  into  my  place  and  cleaned  up 
all  the  cash  that  was  handy  and  among  other  cash 
they  grabbed  the  money  that  I  had  for  you.  I  have 
a  square  pipe-case  about  six  feet  high,  made  of 
plate  glass  with  several  glass  shelves  for  the  dis- 
play of  goods.  In  it  I  had  your  tray  and  whenever 
I  made  a  sale  I  left  the  cash  in  the  tray  so  as  not 
to  get  it  mixed  with  my  own.  We  had  sold  every- 
thing you  sent  us  with  the  exception  of  one  paper 
knife,  four  rings  and  five  leather  tags  and  I  should 
judge  there  was  about  $20  in  the  tray. 

'The  case  was  always  locked,  as  it  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  floor,  but  it  was  jimmied  open  and  the 
cash  gone,  also  $65.00  which  I  had  in  the  cash  regis- 
ter but  no  goods  were  taken  that  I  can  miss.  The 
thief  was  evidently  after  cash  and  nothing  else. 

"I  am  extremely  sorry  that  this  happened  but  of 
course  it  could  not  be  helped.     I  am  enclosing  a 


74  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

clipping  from  the  paper  so  you  can  see  what  they 
say  about  it.  The  thief  was  evidently  a  slim  fellow 
as  he  cut  the  screen  on  one  of  the  back  windows 
and  slipped  through  the  bar  that  had  been  put  up 
there  to  repel  just  such  an  attempt.  This  makes 
the  third  time  I  have  been  burglarized  in  five  years 
and  I  guess  they  must  have  me  picked  for  the 
original  E.  Z.  Mark. 

"With  best  wishes  for  the  New  Year  I  am, 
Sincerely  yours,  F.  G. 


tf 


I  answered  this  letter  and  sent  him  just  three 
times  as  much  junk  as  the  order  before.  I  told  him 
it  was  certainly  no  fault  of  his  and  for  him  not  to 
worry  on  my  account  as  he  was  a  heavier  loser  than 
I  was.  I  also  enclosed  a  present  for  this  man,  in 
order  to  soothe  his  feelings,  a  special  made  charm 
inlaid  with  small  gold  coins,  with  his  initials  en- 
graved on  it,  and  told  him  my  loss  would  only  make 
me  work  so  much  faster  and  harder  and  that  I 
believed  the  thief  was  not  a  stranger  but  was  some- 
one who  no  doubt  was  familiar  with  his  place. 

In  a  few  days  I  got  the  following  reply : 

"Mr.  Patrick  C.  Murphy,  Boise,  Idaho. 

"Dear  Sir: — Inclosed  please  find  Post  Money 
Order  for  the  sum  of  $50.50,  being  the  money  re- 
ceived from  the  articles  you  sent  me.  I  have  nine 
rings  and  two  charms  left,  so  the  stuff  checks  out 
0.  K.  So  far  no  one  has  lifted  anything  from  the 
tray  and  with  most  of  the  fellows  I  give  them  a 
good  chance  to  look  it  over  while  I  am  waiting  on 
trade,  but  I  try  to  keep  a  weather  eye  oiut  just 
the  same. 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  75 

"There  are  a  couple  of  fellows  here  want  to 
know  if  you  make  a  loose- jawed  bit,  whatever  that 
is.  I  think  I  could  sell  one  or  two  of  them  if  you 
had  them. 

'*I  would  also  suggest  that  you  send  in  your  next 
assortment  several  locket  crosses,  as  I  have  had 
calls  for  them. 

"The  charm  you  sent  me  has  been  the  cause  of 
a  lot  of  favorable  comment  and  I  like  it  very  much. 

"With  kindest  personal  regards,  I  am  very 
truly  yours,  F.  G.'* 

Now  I  have  gotten  several  letters  from  this  man 
since  and  stacks  of  good  letters  from  other  sources 
which  space  will  not  permit  me  to  publish  in  this 
story.  And  just  a  few  days  ago  I  learned  for  the 
first  time  that  this  good  man,  F.  G.,  at  Weiser, 
Idaho,  for  that  is  the  town  where  he  lives,  was  one 
time  chief  of  police  in  a  certain  western  state.  The 
information  made  me  think  of  how  things  and  peo- 
ple can  change.  Just  a  few  short  years  ago  I 
thought  a  chief  of  police  or  an  ex-chief  of  police 
would  be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  help  anyone, 
especially  a  convict. 

To  have  him  helping  me  seemed  almost  as  queer 
as  it  did  to  think  about  some  petty  larceny  crook 
such  as  the  one  that  burglarized  his  place,  and  who 
was  on  the  outside  robbing  a  man  who  is  on  the 
inside  of  the  work  of  his  hands.  But  the  world  is 
full  of  strange  contrasts. 

Now  what  has  prompted  this  ex-chief  of  police 
who  is  an  entire  stranger  to  me,  and  who  cannot 
have  any  hopes  of  any  earthly  gain,  to  take  the 


76  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

deep  interest  in  me  and  endeavor  to  help  me  to  get 
on  my  feet  is  something  I  cannot  explain  unless  it 
is  just  the  true  brotherly  love  that  is  somewhere  in 
the  human  heart.  I  will  truthfully  say  that  these 
things  put  me  to  thinking. 

It  is  hard  for  me  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
keep  on  producing  letters  I  have  received  from  peo- 
ple and  which  have  encouraged  me  but  I  know  it 
cannot  be  possible  to  use  much  more  space  in  this 
way.  But  before  I  leave  the  subject  of  these  let- 
ters I  want  to  reproduce  one  from  Mr.  E.  A. 
Krussman,  of  Pocatello,  Idaho.  He  is  the  general 
secretary  of  the  railroad  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  that  place 
and  I  wrote  to  him  about  having  my  junk  sold  at 
the  club  rooms.    This  is  his  reply : 

"Mr.  Patrick  C.  Murphy,  Boise,  Idaho. 

"My  Dear  Mr.  Murphy : — Your  letter  of  Jan.  13 
has  been  received  but  we  are  not  in  position  to  say 
whether  we  could  sell  any  of  the  articles  or  not, 
however,  under  the  circumstances  we  should  be  glad 
to  help  you  in  any  matter  we  can  and  if  you  care  to 
send  a  few  here  we  will  be  only  too  glad  to  dispose 
of  them  if  possible.  Then  if  the  case  should  be  that 
we  could  not  sell  them  we  will  of  course  return 
them  to  you. 

"We  feel  that  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  for  you  to 
want  to  do  these  things  and  we  want  to  help  you  in 
any  way  we  possibly  can.  We  are  sending  you, 
under  separate  cover,  a  collection  of  magazines, 
hoping  they  will  be  of  some  little  use  to  you. 
"Respectfully,  E.  A.  Krussman." 

Now  I  have  received  lots  and  lots  of  such  en- 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  77 

couragement  from  men  and  women  in  all  walks  of 
life,  from  business  men,  officers  of  the  law,  sher- 
iffs, and  so  on,  and  it  all  goes  to  show,  to  me  at 
least,  that  even  yet,  in  this  corrupt  old  world  there 
are  countless  good  people, — people  who,  without 
any  chance  for  personal  gain  or  personal  reward, 
will  do  all  they  can  to  help  a  man  who  is  down  and 
trying  to  raise  to  lift  himself  up  and  stand  square 
on  his  feet  once  more. 

I  think  this  new  idea  to  me  is  one  thing  that 
has  prompted  me  to  write  these  pages.  For  if  I 
can  express  in  words,  my  good  feelings  towards 
these  men  and  women — among  them  veteran  offi- 
cers of  law  whom  I  one  time  considered  enemies — 
perhaps  it  will  help  many  other  men  who  hold  yet 
these  wrong  opinions  to  change  their  views  and 
look  on  their  fellow  men  in  their  true  light. 

After  all  the  human  race  is  one  great  family 
coming  from  where  no  man  knows  and  journeying 
to  what  destination  none  can  tell  except  as  they  feel 
some  sort  of  faith  or  hope  within  them.  We  are 
all  passengers  on  the  same  train  and  it  is  easier, 
when  we  learn  how,  to  smile  than  to  frown;  it  is 
better  to  help  than  to  harm. 

And  if  I  myself  should  ever  be  so  fortunate  as 
to  again  enter  the  world  and  stand  once  more  among 
free  men  I  think  I  should  understand  life  as  an 
entirely  different  thing  to  that  which  I  thought  it 
five  years  ago  when  I  became  a  part  of  the  dim 
shadows  behind  gray  stone  walls. 

This  I  have  learned  to  believe: 

The  very  men  once  counted  enemies,  officers  who 
uphold  and  enforce  the  laws,  as  a  rule  would  be  the 


78  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

first  to  give  a  man  a  helping  hand.  And  the  first 
thing  I  would  do  were  I  free,  knowing  the  cloud 
that  lies  over  me,  should  I  some  time  light  in  a  dis- 
tant city  where  the  record  of  the  years  are  un- 
known, would  be  to  inform  my  employer  and  the 
chief  of  police  of  my  past  confinement.  I  would 
tell  them  of  my  intentions  and  that  I  wanted  to 
work  and  go  square.  Then  if  later,  some  petty  lar- 
ceny crook  should  happen  along  who  I  should  be  so 
unfortunate  as  to  have  known  in  prison,  and  recog- 
nize me  and  try  to  bled  me  for  hush  money,  which 
has  occurred  in  many  similar  cases,  I  could  tell 
him  to  go  jump  in  the  lake.  He  would  not  be  able 
to  tell  anything  which  I  myself  had  not  already  told, 
and  his  very  effort  to  put  me  in  bad,  I  believe, 
would  justify  the  faith  I  would  hope,  by  frankness, 
to  establish  in  the  hearts  of  my  fellow  man. 

It  seems  to  me  that  most  of  the  trouble  in  this 
world  is  because  people  do  not  understand  each 
other  and  the  motives  in  each  others'  hearts. 

And  I  believe  a  man,  when  he  determines  to  do 
it,  can  make  good  anywhere  and  under  any  cir- 
cumstances. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THINGS    FIVE   YEARS    HAVE   TAUGHT. 

Like  every  prisoner,  perhaps,  who  has  ever  been 
confined  behind  stone  walls,  I  myself  dream  always 
of  a  day  that  may  co/me  when  I  might  have  the 
chance  to  once  more  be  a  man  and  citizen.  This  is 
the  hope  that  does  not  die  in  a  man's  heart.  And 
even  to  one  who  hears  the  doors  slammed  behind 
him  and  his  sentence  is  "for  the  rest  of  his  natural 
life'*  there  is  still  somewhere,  deep  down  in  him 
the  hope  that  if  he  does  the  best  he  can  and  proves 
that  he  is  trying  to  do  the  best  that  he  can  he  will 
finally  be  granted  a  few  years  at  least  of  freedom 
before  he  dies. 

That  hope  naturally  is  in  my  heart.  I  say  so 
frankly  because  in  all  this  story  I  have  simply  de- 
sired to  tell  things  as  they  are.  And  I  do  not  want 
to  be  misunderstood  in  anything. 

But  I  want  to  say  I  will  never  play  the  hypocrite 
to  get  free.  If  I  cannot  win  the  confidence  and  re- 
spect of  those  around  me  while  I  am  in  prison  by 
playing  square  I  could  not  win  it  by  pretending 
something  that  was  not  true.  Peering  into  the 
gloom  of  long  winter  nights,  thinking  in  the  soli- 
tude of  my  cell  during  gray,  dull  days — facing  on 
every  side  the  grim  rock-walls  that  surround  me 


80  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

and  which  have  surrounded  me  for  five  years,  I 
have  seen  things  I  never  saw  before  and  I  have 
learned  things  that  a  few  years  ago  I  could  not 
have  believed.  But  now  I  know  there  is  a  square- 
ness inside  of  human  beings.  The  people  who  have 
befriended  me  inside  of  prison  and  tried  to  help  me 
have  made  me  know  this  is  true. 

So  I  have  tried  in  this  story  to  tell  the  simple 
truth  about  things.  The  facts  I  have  written  are 
true  and  if  I  was  told  that  by  their  publication  I 
would  be  cut  off  from  all  hope  of  ever  going  free — 
and  I  want  to  say  that  the  man  who  walks  outside 
of  prison  walls  with  all  the  world  his  to  look  upon 
and  to  feel  himself  a  part  of,  is  hardly  able  to 
realize  what  that  word  "freedom"  means — yet,  I 
would  say  "Publish  it  and  I  will  die  here  in  prison.'* 

It  is  my  nature  to  yield  quickly  to  kindness  and 
to  be  a  friend  of  those  who  have  been  a  friend  to 
me.  And  I  am  stubborn.  This  I  know.  I  sup- 
pose a  phrenologist  would  say  I  have  the  stubborn 
bump  highly  developed  for  I  know  I  cannot  be  drove 
with  a  whip  one  inch  and  it  is  that  little  kindness 
and  trust  showed  to  me  by  Warden  Snook  after  I 
had  been  lied  on  and  jobbed  into  solitary  five 
years  ago  that  has  gotten  my  stubborn  bump  headed 
the  right  way  and  it  has  been  helped  along  some  by 
a  few  who  have  tried  to  push  me  down  because  it 
made  me  more  determined  than  ever  to  make  good. 

If  Warden  Snook  and  Captain  Roberts  had  not 
shown  some  little  sign  of  kindness  and  that  they 
believed  in  me  I  am  satisfied  I  would  now  be  what 
the  world  calls  a  hopeless  incurable  criminal  and 
perhaps  chained  to  a  madhouse  wall  forever.     I 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  81 

know  this  is  the  nature  of  my  heart.  It  is  the 
nature  of  most  men — to  trust  when  they  are  trusted 
and  to  doubt  when  they  are  doubted. 

And  that  is  why  I  should  like  to  say  to  those 
handling  men  in  prisons :  Never  deal  with  them  in 
revenge  for  they  will  have  a  spirit  of  revenge  grow 
up  inside  of  them  and  deal  with  you  in  revenge  in 
return;  but  deal  with  them  firmly,  strongly,  and 
with  the  idea  of  discipline  but  never  with  revenge. 
And  I  will  say  to  the  convict:  If  an  officer  shows 
a  sign  to  help  you  or  trust  you  never  throw  him 
down  but  hold  up  his  hands  by  showing  by  your 
actions  that  you  appreciate  his  faith  in  you.  By 
doing  that  you  will  be  helping  the  man  who  is  try- 
ing to  help  you  and  by  helping  him  you  will  be 
helping  yourself.  Not  only  that  but  you  will  be 
befriending  as  well  all  other  convicts  in  general. 
When  the  public  reads  of  a  prisoner  being  favored 
with  a  parole  and  then  failing  to  make  good  or  of 
one  running  away  from  the  honor  gang  on  the 
prison  farm  it  hurts  all  the  men  who  are  sticking 
square  and  trying  to  live  up  to  better  things. 
Those  who  are  not  running  away,  or  who  are  mak- 
ing good,  are  not  heard  about  because  they  want 
the  past  forgotten  and  do  not  boast  in  the  papers 
that  they  have  made  good. 

I  just  received  a  letter  a  few  days  ago  from  an 
ex-convict  who  handles  thousands  of  dollars  in 
money  for  his  employer  and  in  such  a  way  that  it 
would  be  easy  for  him  to  get  away  with  it.  His 
employer  knows  all  about  his  past  but  trusts  him 
and  he  is  now  absolutely  on  the  square. 


82  BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS 

Sometimes  I  wonder  which  is  harder : — To  never 
have  fallen  into  the  depths  and  to  live  always  on 
the  sunlit  slopes  of  the  mountainside  or  to  have 
plunged  deep,  deep,  into  the  abyss  and  then  in 
spite  of  hell,  in  spite  of  all  doubts  and  fears  and 
dreads,  climb  back  up  and  up  and  up ! 

In  conclusion  I  want  to  say  that  this  book  is  not 
written  as  a  literary  masterpiece.  It  has  made  no 
pretentions  at  literary  excellence.  I  have  simply 
wrote  it  to  try  and  tell  the  world  what  a  man  sees, 
what  he  feels,  and  what  he  faces  when  prison  doors 
swing  shut  behind  him. 

And  I  wanted  to  tell,  too,  the  story  of  my  own 
fight  to  build  up  the  junk  business  such  as  I  have 
built  up — starting  without  a  cent,  without  a  tool, 
and  v^ith  a  life  sentence  hanging  over  my  head. 

I  have  not  spoken  much  of  religion.  Christianity 
is  a  good  thing.  But  I  have  made  no  pretense  of 
"lip  religion."  It  does  not  appeal  to  me.  I  have 
come  to  see  things  different  to  the  way  I  saw  them 
five  years  ago.  And  even  here,  inside  of  this 
prison,  I  have  found  opportunity  to  discover  good 
in  the  hearts  of  men  and  honesty  in  the  lives  of 
others.    That  is  what  appeals  to  me. 

If  a  man  is  faithful,  truthful,  true  to  his  fellow- 
men  and  lives  with  a  desire  to  help  and  feel  for 
someone  besides  himself  it  seems  to  me  he  is  pleas- 
ing his  Maker  and  is  practicing  the  real  doctrine 
of  the  Master  who  said: 

**Love  ye  one  another  and  God  will  love  you" 

And  I  wish  to  further  state,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  v^ho  might,  unthinkingly,  wish  to  condemn  or 
criticize  a  fellowman  who  has  undergone  a  term  in 


BEHIND     GRAY     WALLS  83 

prison  and  is  stamped  with  the  convict  brand  and 
who  has  also,  no  doubt,  paid  a  hundredfold  for  his 
act,  just  remember  these  words  I  say  to  you : 

When  your  bones  and  my  hones, 
Have  for  years  been  mouldering 

in  the  dirt, 
Who  can  tell  tohose  bones  it  %vas 
That  tvore  the  convict  shirt? 


THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

■HFTTTPIT  11«    ■■■■■  — jj^Q.^jjp 


ii»fSf,r.,,i!6««iEs  — 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


